"Eat, before it gets cold. Can't let it go to waste. Liz was a damned fine cook."
"That she was." He gave her a watchful look from beneath long black lashes. "Although I think that I'm the one who should be all over you about eating rather than the other way around."
She took exaggerated umbrage. "I eat like a friggin' horse!"
"Yeah, but you're still so tiny. Before—" he paused, swallowing hard, then continued, "before she got sick, Liz told me you'd been losing weight.
As far as I can see, you don't have any to lose."
Was that a compliment? And, if it wasn't, why was she blushing so furiously?
"Yeah, well, everyone looks tiny next to you." They each reached for the cheese at the same time and their fingers touched. Andi withdrew her hand as if he'd scalded her.
It must've been the drink that loosened his tongue and got him to ask her something he'd probably never consider doing so while sober. "Have I done something to make you feel you need to be afraid of me, Andi?"
It was her turn to stop eating. Placing her bowl back on the table and sitting back against the couch, she turned a bit further away from him than she had been before. Giving him what she sincerely hoped was her most convincing tone, she said, scoffing just the right amount, "No, of course not.
You've been nothing but a gentleman around me. Always."
"And yet I—who Liz used to refer to as Mr. Oblivious—can tell that you're… unsettled around me. And we've known each other for over a decade. I don't mean to put you on the spot, but I've always wondered if there was something I'd said or done that I didn't realize I needed to apologize for."
Andi's heart was beating fit to explode out of her chest; every nerve she owned was on full alert. "No, nothing at all. In fact, I know you've gone out of your way several times, like when you helped me move, to be extraordinarily sweet to me. Thank you."
"You're welcome," he replied formally, and, out of the corner of her eye, she saw him incline his head.
But he didn't say anything else, and neither did she, and they descended into a very awkward, uncomfortable silence that Andi just couldn't handle. Swinging her legs off the couch, she began to gather things together, intending to hop them into the kitchen so that he didn't have to.
"Andi."
Nothing more.
Just her name, her simple name, on his lips. Expressed in that deep, dark chocolate fudge voice of his. And in a no nonsense tone that immediately made her soak her panties.
"Rory," she answered flatly while studiously ignoring him and his tone, getting everything arranged on the tray he'd used to bring it in before she made to get up.
"Andi, I know you know about how Liz's and my relationship worked
—how I feel about someone I—" he stumbled a bit there but recovered to continue, "care about doing something that I would consider to be detrimental to her health. So, I would advise that if you value your behind, you lie back down on the couch and put your feet back up where I put them. I'll take that stuff into the kitchen myself in a minute. If you so much as touch that tray or look like you're going to try to get up, sore ankle or not, I'm going to give you a spanking."
Holy… had he just threatened to-to…
She didn't know where she got the nerve, but she snuck a peek at him
and he was staring right back at her when she did. He was not smiling. He wasn't frowning either, he was just looking… how had Liz put it? Resolute.
He'd said his piece, quietly and firmly, and he didn't feel he needed to be overbearing, and he didn't. His size and his personality were more than enough to get his point across.
"But—"
She made as if to get up, tray in hand, but as she rose, it was taken away from her and placed on the seat of the chair behind him. Before she could even realize what it was that he was doing, and despite his clear warnings to her, she was amazed to find that he had neatly and gracefully taken a ginormous step over the coffee table to place himself in front of the middle cushion of the three cushion couch. Sinking down onto it at the same time as he laced his still very gentle fingers around her far wrist, he tugged slightly, and carefully guided her so that she ended up on her tummy, over his lap.
Of course Andi immediately began to struggle. She should not be there. Not under any circumstances.
Despite all of her inner turmoil, all it took was him placing one thick, veiny well-muscled arm across the small of her back, those long, bold fingers claiming the far curve of her hip, for her to suddenly go stock still.
He'd never touched her so intimately. She'd never allowed them to get this physically close, and now, even though she had a pretty good idea what he intended, or perhaps because she did, she was worried that her body's more overt reactions to him were going to give her away.
"You know I could never hurt you any more than I could have hurt Liz, right?" he asked huskily. But, although he hated to admit it, his voice was rough for an entirely different reason than grief this time.
He hadn't felt like this in a very long time. Sex with Liz had been incredibly hot and sensual and he had been constantly on her. Luckily, her sex drive easily matched his.
But, Andi was a different animal altogether. She was much smaller but more experienced than Liz, if he had the right idea from what he'd heard from his wife over the years, although he didn't think he could remember ever having seen her with a man since he'd met her.
Experienced wasn't a bad thing, necessarily—at least as far as his body was concerned, which was definitely beginning to rise to the occasion.
"Yes," she whispered.
His hand came to rest on her bottom, and he felt her jerk beneath it.
And that was the impetus she needed to at least try to come to her senses. "But, still, Rory, you should let me up." She was proud of just how firm and businesslike she sounded, when she had never felt less so at any other point in her life.
How could that sentence have made things a thousand times worse?
Instead of removing his hand, he began to move it around and over her bottom. The fact that she was fully clothed really didn't seem to make much difference to her body, which immediately had her battling to keep it from raising her butt to meet his touch with every firm, possessive pass over that very sensitive territory.
Suddenly though, it stopped, and, belying his words, he removed his hand.
Only to bring it down again, sharply, while saying, "I don't think so."
Chapter III
It wasn't what she would consider a particularly long or hard spanking, especially in comparison to what she knew he was like with Liz. It consisted of eight swats exactly. And it ended abruptly, as if he'd changed his mind, with him slipping out from beneath her and looking quite sheepish as he did so, avoiding her eyes.
No long, loving aftercare for her, not that she really needed it.
Not that it didn't hurt, either, it did, and she found herself very thankful that he had interrupted it. She no longer wondered why Liz had sat so gingerly across from her sometimes, and wishing desperately that she had brought a change of clothes with her, in particular, underwear.
Andi knew she wasn't the only one who had reacted to the situation, either. His interest had been pressing prominently into her stomach the entire time, which was something she was surprised about. She knew how much the two of them loved each other, and she knew that he hadn't so much as looked at another woman since Liz had passed. Unlike a lot of men, he hadn't gotten married within months, or worse, weeks, of having lost his spouse, simply because he couldn't stand to be alone.
She'd never heard about him going out with anyone—before, during or after Liz—or even asking anyone else who might have turned him down.
She knew the entire small town would have been entirely too happy to tell her that tidbit of information, so she felt pretty secure in the knowledge that he hadn't had any female companionship for quite some time.
Perhaps that was it. She was here and she was female
and it had been a while for him—a long while, if you considered that Liz maintained he made love to her almost every night.
Yeah, that had to be it. She certainly wasn't someone he'd be interested in. She and Liz were opposites. That's how they managed not to kill each other all those years as friends.
She could hear him buzzing around the kitchen, putting stuff away, knowing he was feeling at least as uncomfortable as she was, and not able to do anything about it. There was nowhere for them to go to get away from each other.
When he returned, it was to put a hot apple turnover that had been topped with a scoop of vanilla ice cream and drizzled with caramel sauce
down on the table in front of her.
But Andi could barely see it for the tears.
"I'm-I'm going to go. I can't stay here with you like this. It isn't right."
She stood, surprising him, and hobbled towards the door, awkwardly donning the layers she had just shed as she went.
He trailed behind her, knowing he had to stop her but not sure exactly what the most proprietous way of doing so was going to be. However, when she opened the door, he realized that he didn't have to do anything. The snow was easily piled up to her mid-thighs, and the footprints that he had left in getting her to the cabin had already filled in as if they had never been.
Andi closed the door and silence fell over the little cabin once again.
"It's a really bad one out there. For once the weather guys got it right,"
he ground out finally. "You're not going anywhere, not that I was going to let you go anyway."
Tears trailing down her cheeks, she jutted out her chin and said, "You and whose army are going to stop me?"
All Rory did was take a step closer to her, not touching her anywhere except the tip of her chin, which he held in his fingers. "If I have to tie you to the bed," he swallowed hard around the words, but continued, "to keep you safe, then I will. I'm not going to risk losing you, too."
Andi couldn't even see him any more for the tears, and found herself hauled into his arms where he stood and held her tight. This was a real hug, not one of the preciously proper ones she insisted he stick to as if he had the plague or he'd contaminate her or something.
She could feel his tears seeping into her hair and felt his big body shudder.
"I'm glad you're here," he whispered unexpectedly against her temple.
"I’m glad you're here."
The moment she took a step away from him, his arms fell slowly from around her, and Andi felt more bereft than she ever had in her life.
Nonetheless, she forced herself to continue to move away from him until she was no longer within his reach.
Turning, she reached for the back of a chair to use as a crutch and took half of a limping step before she found herself swept up again, for the second time that night, and carried back to the sofa.
He was just as solicitous then as he had been before, settling her under a throw and making sure that her ankle was elevated. "Ah, I should get
you an ice pack."
Andi snorted. "I should just lie in the house with my foot out the door!"
"I think we can do better than that."
She ended up with a cheap bag of frozen green beans draped over it.
Her ankle was quite swollen and sore looking, he noticed, tsking and shaking his head at her as he put the makeshift ice bag in place.
"And you thought that I was going to let you go down those stairs and to what end?" he scoffed. "After all these years, I'm surprised you don't know me better than that, Andi."
Preferring not to provoke him any further, she settled on glaring at him. In his sudden crisis of conscience, she had a feeling that she had dodged a bullet. She wasn't much interested in giving him a reason to feel that he needed to pick up where he left off spanking her.
He finished in the kitchen and she heard him turning out lights. The distinct sound of plastic grocery bags rustling as they were being lifted drowned out the sound of the wind howling around them for a moment. He suddenly appeared near her head, reaching in front of her to place two half gallons of that God awful whiskey on the coffee table.
"Good Lord, were you going to pickle yourself?"
"Something like that, although remember that I'm much bigger than you are and it takes a lot more to get me drunk. Care to join me?"
They toasted Liz again, multiple times, usually with tears in their eyes. They toasted each other, the Red Sox, the Patriots and the Bruins, not necessarily in that order and all at his behest. Hers were more reflective, toasting Liz's chili when they had more of it late in the night, her cooking skills, and finally the parent company of Canadian Ltd.
"To whom I owe this tremendous buzz," she said, raising her glass.
"Me, too," he agreed, raising a glass that wavered around in his fist.
Seconds later, he thought he heard Liz snoring, softly, like most women do, and he perked his head up, but it was Andi, lying there with her glass in her lap, ankle still propped on a pillow, but dead asleep with her head on the couch cushions.
Damn, she was cute!
He certainly hadn't expected to have to entertain company, but if he was going to have to do so, she would be who he would pick, regardless of the fact that she posed a great temptation. He'd let himself wonder, just once,
if, after Liz was gone, her behavior towards him would change, but it really hadn't.
And she certainly hadn't made a play for him like several of her recently divorced female friends had, much to his tremendous discomfort.
No, Andi was one of the few friends he and Liz had had—well, using the term loosely on his end of things, but still—that had stuck around. He usually heard from her at least once a week, sometimes more. She dragged him out occasionally, knowing that he would tend to want to brood. He had a feeling Liz had asked her to keep an eye on him, and she had done a great job of it. She'd not let him retreat too far from everyone, as he was wont to do, prodding him out of his cave to go out to dinner with him every once in a while, or to a movie she thought he'd be interested in, after having discovered they shared an interest in science fiction and Star Trek in particular.
Boy those first dinners had been horribly awkward—not that they were that much less so now, but eventually, because she persisted in forcing him out, she had eventually relaxed a bit around him. They had found some common ground that they had never gotten to while Liz was alive.
Well, he certainly wasn't going to have her sleeping on the floor. He was more than gentlemanly enough to vacate the bed and sleep on the sofa.
So he stood, bobbing and weaving precariously as he did so before moving to stand over her. He wasn't sure if he was capable of lifting her in his condition and he didn't want to risk hurting her, so he squatted in front of her, reaching out to pat her face gently as he whispered, "Andi? Andrea? Time to make the doughnuts."
He knew she had a sweet tooth and that perked her right up.
"Doughnuts?"
He had to chuckle. For a tiny thing, she could pack them away. There was a place in town, a tiny little spot with a line out the door fit to rival Krispy Kreme's which made amazing glazed doughnuts. Andi had a tendency to go by—before and after Liz—early in the morning and bring them a box or two. He knew that if she didn't hang around and eat them with them, she would have gotten a box for herself and it wouldn't have lasted long.
She could practically match him doughnut for doughnut, and that was saying something, only he had no idea where she put it.
Rory's eyes fell to the way her breasts were outlined by the pretty sweater she wore, watching them rise and fall in her sleep for a long moment, during which he felt himself come to full mast, and feeing terribly guilty
about it as he snapped out of it.
And she was already snoring again.
"Andy, don't go back to sleep yet, hon. We need to get you tucked in.
Think of the doughnuts."
"Joneses?"
That got
another light laugh from him; she was about the only person on the planet who could, nowadays. "Yes, I'll get you some when we get out of here. Think of them—all hot and sticky and warm and melty in your mouth."
His was watering, and it wasn't because of the treat he was describing.
It was because of the way she was leaning against him, full bodied, as he tucked his head under her arm instead—on her bad side—and helped her up, and how he had to touch her to help her.
He couldn’t straighten totally or he would have lifted her feet right off the floor. But he somehow got them to stumble and gimp along until she was standing next to the bed.
"I hate to put you out of your own bed, though," she began belatedly.
"I can sleep on the couch. I'm smaller and I'll fit better," she rationalized.
There was that look again. Damned if it wasn't even more potent when she was drunk!
"You are sleeping right here, where I put you. Or do I need to give you the rest of that spanking?"
Andi couldn't help but snort, which probably wasn't the smartest thing to do in front of him.
"What was that for?" he asked immediately, looming over her.
"Nothing."
"You snorted."
"I did?" she said, pretending innocence.
"Yes, about the spanking I gave you."
Andi shrugged. "Probably because it wasn't much of one, was it?"
That got her a glare, and she clamped her mouth shut when her thoroughly tipsy mind figured she ought to quit while she was ahead.
"Well, you'd best behave or I won't hesitate to give you the rest of it.
Hop on in and I'll take your shoe off and tuck you in," he ordered grumpily.
"But, I got no pajamas here, Roar," she stage whispered.
"I know that. You weren't expecting to stay. Let me see if I can find you something." He left clothes here, older worn out stuff, and found her an
old t-shirt, returning to stand beside the bed and handing it to her.
She went bright red. "Would you… would you turn around so I can get changed?" she asked softly.
"Of course," he agreed, executing a smart about face. "Want me to go into the living room?"
The Substitute Wife Page 3