by Arlene James
She had enough presence of mind to lift her head and gasp, “What are you doing?”
He dropped down onto the middle of the couch with her in his lap and buried his hands in her hair on either side of her face. One of the pins with which she’d secured it popped free and fell onto the cushions. “I’m trying to tell you something,” he said, tilting her face, just so. He could see her pulse beating rapidly in the hollow of her throat.
“What?” It came out all breathy and soft.
He put a kiss between her eyebrows and pulled back to look deeply into those blue eyes, burning now with a different kind of fire. “I’m trying to tell you that I don’t care what anybody says or thinks about us. All I really care about is you.”
The fire in those eyes changed to a warm glow. “Jack. Jack, that’s so sweet, but I can’t let you—”
He dropped his hands to her upper arms and shook her lightly, just once. “You’ve had your say. I listened. Now it’s my turn.” He let his smile soften the sternness of his voice, his hands skimming over her shoulders and up the smooth column of her neck to her face. “I know my own mind, Heller. I’m not stupid.”
“I know. I shouldn’t have said—”
He pressed a thumb against her mouth. Such a tempting mouth. “I’m not self-destructive. I’m not impulsive…not too impulsive, anyway. The point is, I know what I’m doing.”
“And what is that, Jack?” she whispered, her lips brushing the pad of his thumb.
“Exploring,” he said, no longer able to keep his gaze off her mouth. “It’s been a long time since I felt anything like this, Heller, and no one’s going to stop me from finding out just how deeply these feelings run—not even you, now that I know why you pushed me away.”
He brought his face close to hers, his nose gently nudging, his warm breath billowing softly between them. Her eyelids fluttered shut. Her hands tightened on his shoulders. He tilted his head just so and pressed his mouth to hers, feeling the whiskers that framed his upper lip twitch. She made the most deliciously inarticulate sound containing both wonder and welcome. Any doubts he might have had evaporated, leaving only the compulsion, rich with need and desire, to touch and taste and discover. He wanted to know every erotic secret of her body, to test the very limits of pleasure with her. He wanted to make himself a part of her and her a part of him, so much so that there could be no question of belonging. He didn’t really think that was possible just now, but he meant to take it just as far as she would let him.
The very thought of taking her with him where he wanted to go was enough to ignite wildfires burning in his veins. He deepened the kiss commensurately, plying her mouth with more expertise than he’d even known he possessed, and when she opened for him, he spiked his tongue into the creamy hollow she provided him. She made that sound again, and sensation exploded in him.
He felt acutely the way her thighs nestled against his hardness and the soft press of her breasts against his chest. She wound her arms around his neck. He dropped his hands to her chest, pulling back just enough to slide them down over her breasts to her ribs and lower still to encircle her waist. He was trembling when he slipped one arm around the small of her back to brace her and splayed his free hand over the gentle mound of her belly, pushing downward until his fingers slipped into the steamy crevice between her legs.
She gasped and arched her back over his arm, breaking the kiss. He slid his mouth over the curve of her jaw and down her throat, allowing his mustache to lightly brush her skin, while his fingers fumbled with three oversize buttons on the front of her short, fitted blouse. She shivered as the buttons released one by one, and he peeled the blouse back and off, his teeth nipping the blade of her collarbone. His hands found the catch in her bra and worked it free, then skimmed the straps off her shoulders and down her arms before laying her back against the cushions.
His own lungs were working like bellows as he feasted his eyes and filled his hands with the perfect mounds of her pale golden breasts. Her rose brown nipples peaked beneath the sweep of his fingers. He bent low and kissed a particularly appetizing cherry red mole on the inner slope of one breast, then trailed his tongue up that slope to capture the peak at its crest. She cried out, her fingers tangling in his damp hair. He took as much of her into his mouth as he could, forgetting that his mustache might abrade her delicate skin, forgetting everything except the need to join their bodies. He had to get her out of her clothes. He brought his hands down to the waistband of her shorts and began struggling with snaps and zippers. Impatient to the point of desperation, he straightened to look down at what his hands were doing. It was his first—and last—mistake.
He felt the change in her almost instantly, even before her hands began pushing his away.
“Oh, my God!” Her legs flailed as she struggled to sit up.
“Heller, wait!” He pressed her down again, prepared to plead, if necessary. But a look into her eyes told him to keep the words behind his teeth. The smoky haze had cleared from those twin skies, and storm clouds were once again gathering. He shifted his hold and pulled her up into a sitting position, her legs draped over his lap. She twisted out of his grasp and scrambled up, hitting him in tender places with various moving body parts. “Ugh. Oof!” He made a grab for her wrist even as he doubled over and missed.
She snatched up her blouse and danced back out of reach. “I can’t believe this! What were we doing?”
He lifted a brow at that. “Making love?” He pushed his hair off his forehead and looked up to find her struggling with the hook on her bra. She was utterly glorious, lush, beautiful—and completely flustered.
“We can’t do that!” she exclaimed, tossing her blouse over one shoulder so that she could concentrate on getting her bra hooked.
Jack got up stiffly and moved toward her. “Here let me do that.”
She shot out a hand to ward him off. “Don’t touch me! That’s what got me into this!”
He grinned. “Yeah, I noticed. Now come here.” She batted at his hands, but he ignored her, grasped her by the shoulders and turned her. He snagged the ends of her bra band and brought them together. She jumped when his fingers brushed her back as he made the connection. He stepped back. “All done. You can yell at me now.”
She threw her blouse around her shoulders, stuck her arms through the sleeve holes and yanked it together before turning on him. “I’m not going to yell,” she grumbled. “It was as much my fault as yours.”
He brought his hands to his waist, trying valiantly not to smile. “No, no. I take full responsibility.”
Her eyes narrowed dangerously. “But you’re not the least bit repentant, are you?”
The grin broke free. “Not in the least.”
“Oh!” She pushed her hair out of her face and glared at him. “You rat. And I thought you were such a nice guy.”
“I am.”
“Well, for your information, I’m not some easy conquest you can just drag into your bed at first opportunity, no matter how much I might want to be there!”
He knew that if he laughed she’d probably slug him, so he clapped a hand over his mouth, delighted to know that it was her principles that stood in the way and not her desires. “I—I’ll remember that,” he managed to say, but she was too wound up to pay him much heed.
“You think I’ll do anything you want just because I like you more than anyone else…and because you look like some kind of Greek god standing there in your—” She gulped, looking adorably confused as her gaze raked over him. “W-well, I won’t!” She snatched her gaze away and began thrusting those huge buttons through their holes. “Even if it means never getting to—That is, I won’t sleep with you ever unless…”
“Unless what?” The word married leapt into his mind, and he shocked himself by almost saying it, by almost suggesting that they consider it. Fortunately she wasn’t in any mood for conversation.
“The point is,” she stated firmly, “it’s not going to happen, not like this.”
Her eyes widened in surprise. “You…ou want to see me again?”
“Again,” he said. “As often as possible. Anytime we can manage. Just tell me when.”
She stared. He could see the battle she was waging and knew that just because she battled he had already won this particular skirmish. Still, she shook her head. “I—it’s not a good idea.”
He sighed and pointed out the obvious. “Look, I can’t make you go out with me, but I can promise you that you’re going to get awfully tired of closing the door in my face if you don’t.”
“I-I can’t.”
He folded his arms and gave her his best authoritarian glare. “Not an acceptable answer.”
She was crumbling right before his eyes. “No, really, I-”
“Don’t have any choice,” he finished for her, “because I’m not going to compromise on this. How’s tomorrow night?”
She shook her head. “Working.”
“When’s your next night off?”
“Not till Wednesday.”
“Fine. What time can I pick you up for dinner?”
“Jack, I can’t. I have so little time with my kids.”
“They can come along.”
She laughed. “Yeah, right, I can just see us trying to have dinner with Davy crawling all over me and Cody and Punk arguing over every little thing.”
“We don’t have to go to dinner. We’ll do something else.”
“Like what?”
He shrugged. “We’ll think of something. I don’t really care what.”
She bit her lip, then said, “I guess I could maybe make dinner for you. We wouldn’t have to go anywhere, would we?”
He’d have crowed if he hadn’t been afraid of putting her back up again. “Sounds great. Shall we say about six?”
She wrinkled up her nose. “Seven might be better.”
“We can always split the difference,” he suggested. “Sixthirty?”
She smiled. “Six-thirty will be fine.”
Gotcha! he exulted silently, and this time he wasn’t at all certain he was going to let go, no matter how hard she pushed. He’d been mad to think that she was the wrong woman for him. Now all he had to do was convince her. He no longer worried that he might be repeating the same mistake he’d made with Lillian. If that turned out to be so, well, he’d deal with it then. Better that than never to have tried; to have lost by default this special woman.
She heard him as he climbed the steps to the door and panicked. Blindly she continued shoving serving dishes full of food into the oven, turned off the heat, slammed the door and straightened, pasting a smile on her face. Jack knocked on the door, and she marveled that she could hear it over the pounding of her heart. Punk could hear it, too, but she sat at the end of the table, scowling, and ignored it. Heller willed her feet to move toward the door, but somehow she couldn’t make them move. What if he scooped her into his arms and started kissing her right there? Her pulse rate quickened at the thought, but she was painfully aware of Punk sitting there. She wouldn’t want her little girl to see her make a fool of herself over a man she shouldn’t even be seeing. She thought of calling for Cody, who was keeping Davy occupied for her, but realized that Jack would hear.
“Get the door,” she insisted in a whisper to Punk, who scowled a little harder. “Go on!”
Punk slid from her chair as Jack knocked again and dragged her feet a whole yard to the door. Moving at the same speed as a lazy, octogenarian snail, she grasped the doorknob, turned it and tugged open the door an inch at a time. Jack literally slipped sideways through the narrow opening she allowed him and jumped back out of the way as she slammed the door shut with surprising strength. Jack smiled at her obvious hostility.
“Well, hello, Miss Moore. Nice to see you again, too.”
Punk put on a vicious face, lip curled up in a silent snarl. Jack chuckled, his mood buoyant.
“Where’s your mom?”
Punk lifted an arm and pointed into the kitchen. Jack turned in that direction, smiling warmly. Heller kept her distance, lifting one hand in a little wave. His gaze moved over her appreciatively, returning to her face to fasten on her eyes and communicate intense private longing. Heller gulped, tingling in places about which she was embarrassed just to think. Suddenly Jack frowned, his brows drawing together.
“Something burning?”
Heller started, simultaneously surprised by the question and aware of a faint, smoky scent. She whirled toward the stove and cried out at the wisp of smoke leaking from the top of the oven door. The signal light told her that she had not turned the oven off but had turned it up, all the way to broil. She spun the dial—to the right position this time—with one hand and yanked open the oven door with the other. A puff of smoke and steam hit her in the face, but she still saw that the top of her meat loaf was black and her creamed peas curdled.
“Oh, no!” She grabbed for a hot pad with one hand and the sizzling casserole with the other.
“Heller, don’t!”
Jack was there even before the pain in her left hand made her release the dish of peas. The small casserole hit the floor. An arm wrapped around her waist, Jack yanked her back before the hot cream splattered her. Her feet dangling above the floor, he turned her to the sink, wrenched on the cold water and stuck her hand beneath it.
“My meat loaf!” she wailed.
“It’s all right. I’ll get it. You just keep your hand under the water.” He released her gradually and backed away, only to bump into Punk. “Go in the other room, hon. I don’t want you burned, too.” Punk, miraculously, did as she was told. He found two pot holders, carefully squished his way through the peas and retrieved the remaining dishes from the oven, placing each carefully atop the stove.
Cody and Davy hurried into the room before he was through, brought by the sounds of catastrophe, and he shot a quick look at Punk. “Keep them out for me, honey. We’ve got quite a mess in here.”
Punk promptly spread both arms and placed herself at the end of the table. Heller turned off the water, dried her hand and began pulling paper towels off the roll.
“What a mess! My dinner’s ruined. The whole evening’s ruined!”
Jack tossed away the hot pads and turned to pull her into his arms. “Nothing’s ruined. Besides,” he whispered, “this is what I came for. I can get food anywhere. Only here can I finagle a way to get you into my arms.”
She chuckled, pleased to the tips of her toes, then shoved him away, all too aware that her children were watching. Sighing, she went down on her haunches and began wiping up peas with the paper towels in her hands. Jack wisely took the roll from the holder and squatted beside her to help.
“We can still go out for dinner if you want,” he told her as they worked.
She bit her lip. “I’m not really hungry, anyway.”
“What about the kids?”
She got up and poked at the meat loaf. Only the top was blackened. Everything else had been on the bottom rack and so was fine. “I think I can salvage enough to feed them—and you, if you’re interested.”
“That’s fine,” he replied lightly, swiping up the last of the peas while Heller reached for the mop.
She sent him into the living room while she mopped the floor. No sooner did he sit down on the couch than Cody and, surprisingly, Davy began crawling all over him. Punk retreated into her former silent hostility, glaring at them all. Heller cut the top off the meat loaf, covered it with ketchup, and transferred it to the table, which she then pulled away from the wall to make room for Jack. She carried the remainder of the meal to the table and called everyone in to eat.
Everything was fine until all were served and Jack began trying to make conversation. Cody responded enthusiastically, too enthusiastically, really, while Punk glared and Heller tried to smooth over her poor manners and see to it that C
ody ate his dinner. Davy, unfortunately, began feeling left out and decided to include himself in the conversation by letting out an ear-splitting screech, which made the kids laugh, Jack cringe and Heller scold him. His next gambit was not so easily dismissed. He squashed meat loaf and ketchup into his hair, getting chuckles from everyone but Heller this time, who cleaned him up with a paper towel. Meanwhile Punk tried to hide her cooked carrots under the edge of her plate. Heller admonished her mildly and got murdered with a look for her restraint. Her patience wearing thin, Heller dished up a second serving and insisted that Punk eat it. To her dismay and Punk’s disgust, Jack commiserated with Punk.
“I only eat them because they’re good for me,” he said, popping one into his mouth and making short work of it. “I actually prefer mine raw and crunchy.”
Punk rolled her eyes and chewed sulkily. Heller closed her eyes and counted to ten. Davy launched a handful of carrots at Jack’s chest and hit him on the cheek and chin. In the ensuing silence, he waggled his little brows, clearly anticipating the laughter that had been the result of his earlier antics. When it did not come, he smacked himself in the eye with mushed carrot and began to wail. Heller didn’t know what to do first, peel the carrot off Jack’s chin or shush Davy.
While she dithered and apologized repeatedly, Cody expressed outrage at Davy’s behavior, accusing Punk of en-listing him in a campaign to make Jack hate them all. Punk took violent exception to that, shouting and kicking Cody beneath the table. Heller began scolding them all, while Jack reached up with his napkin and removed the carrot from his face. Calmly, at first, he began asking everyone to quiet down and intermittently grew louder himself while trying to assure Heller that everything was fine. Finally he brought both fists down on the table, rattling every dish, glass and piece of flatware, and shouted, “Stop!”
