by Nora Roberts
dangerous as his eyes. “I’m running low on self-control, particularly after last night. Now calm down, and we’ll talk.”
“I don’t have anything to say to you.” Cold with fury, she stopped struggling and stared up at him. “I had my say yesterday, and you’ve had yours tonight. It looks like we understand each other well enough.”
“Then we won’t talk,” Lance said harshly before his mouth came down on hers. With an iron grip, he handcuffed her wrists so that her frantic movements were useless. There was something calculating as well as brutal in the kiss. She recognized the same ruthlessness she knew him to be capable of in racing. Knowing her struggles were futile, she forced her body to go limp and her mouth to remain passive. “Ice won’t work,” Lance muttered and lifted her off her feet. “I know how to melt it.”
As he began to carry her to the bed Foxy’s passive acceptance disappeared. “No!” Desperately she tried to free herself from his arms. “Lance, don’t, not like this.” She pushed hard against his chest and felt herself falling. Her small cry of alarm was knocked from her as she hit the mattress. Before she could roll away, he was on top of her.
His body molded itself to hers. As she turned her head his hand locked on her jaw, holding her face still as his mouth took hers again. Quickly, as though her struggles were nonexistent, he began to undress her. There was determination without passion in his movements. He didn’t look for partnership now, but for capitulation. Foxy’s body heated to his touch even as she fought for freedom. Her sweater and jeans were tossed carelessly to the floor and the thin chemise she wore was no barrier against his hands. Her nipples were taut against the silk as he sought the sensitive hollow of her throat with his lips and tongue. She continued to struggle even as his hand moved down the silk to the flatness of her stomach. His fingers moved roughly over the top of her leg where the chemise ended.
Desire surged through her, weighing on her limbs as she pushed and twisted. She knew she needed to escape not only from him but from herself. Her movements brought only more arousal. With his tongue, he traced the peak of her breast through the chemise, catching it then between his teeth as her fingers dug into his shoulders. He exploited her weaknesses, explored the secrets only he knew until the fire kindled and flared. She responded. She arched against him now not in protest, but in answer. Hungrily her mouth sought his as her fingers fumbled with the buttons of his shirt. His skin was hot against her palms, his muscles tight.
Abruptly, his mood altered. His cool control vanished as a thunderous urgency took its place. Hooking his hands in the bodice, he ripped the chemise down the front in one sharp gesture. Foxy heard him curse her as his breathing grew as labored as hers. His hands were wild now, bruising over her naked skin while his mouth was hard and demanding. Control was lost for both of them. There was only sensation, only need, only the dark pleasure of damp flesh and deep kisses. But even as he took her, even as she gave herself without reservation, Foxy knew neither of them had won.
Chapter 14
It started raining early Saturday morning. Then the cold arrived and turned the rain to snow before afternoon. Alone, with the house rattling around her, Foxy watched it fall in thin sheets. The ground was still warm, and the snow melted even as it landed. It poured down quickly enough, but left no trace. There’ll be no snowmen built today, Foxy mused and hugged her elbows. I wonder where he could have gone.
Lance had already left when she awakened, and the house was empty. Foxy knew that what had passed between them the night before had cost them both dearly. In the end, he hadn’t taken her in anger, and she had given herself willingly. Desire had won over both of them but misunderstanding remained in its wake. Discovering herself alone in a cold bed had shot a shaft of gloom over her, which grew only sharper as the hours passed. The morning hours spent in her darkroom had been productive but had done nothing to alleviate her dilemma.
What’s happening to my marriage? she asked herself as she stared out at the stubbornly falling snow. It’s barely begun, and it seems to be going nowhere. Like the snow out there, she mused, and lay her fingers on the windowpane. It just keeps disappearing. Could it be as fragile as an early snow, and as fleeting? Foxy shook her head and cradled her elbows. I won’t let it be. The sound of the phone had her whirling around. Lance, she thought instantly and raced to answer it.
“Hello,” she said with anticipation ripe in her voice.
“Hiya, Foxy. How are things in the real world?”
“Kirk.” Her disappointment was outweighed by her pleasure. She dropped down on an ottoman and pushed the disappointment aside. “It’s good to hear your voice.” Even as she said the words, she realized how true they were. Her pleasure increased and turned to happiness. “How are you?” she demanded. “Have you talked them into letting you out? Where’s Pam?”
“I think marriage has slowed you down,” he commented gravely. “Can’t you think of anything to say?”
Laughing, Foxy tucked her feet under her. “Just answer any or all of the above questions, but start with the first one. How are you?”
“Pretty good. Healing. They might be persuaded to let me out in a couple weeks if Pam’s willing to cart me back and forth for therapy.” She could tell from the sound of his voice that his injuries were hardly uppermost in his mind. Professional risks. She remembered Lance’s words and bit down hard on her bottom lip.
“I imagine she could be persuaded,” Foxy managed to say naturally. “I’m glad you’re better.” I worry about you, she told him silently, then smiled and shook her head. He wouldn’t like to hear that. “I suppose you’re getting bored.”
“I passed bored last week,” he returned dryly. “I’m getting so good at the Times crossword puzzles, I’ve started doing them in ink to show off.”
“You were always cocky. Shall I send you some paste and colored paper to keep you busy?” She kept her tongue in her cheek as she heard him snarl.
“I’ll let that pass because I’m good-natured.” Kirk ignored her laughter and continued. “So, tell me about Boston. Do you like it there?”
“It’s beautiful.” As she answered, Foxy glanced out the window. Flakes were falling in a white curtain and vanishing. “It’s snowing now, and I suppose it’ll turn cold, but I’ve done a lot of exploring. I’m rather anxious to see how Boston looks in the winter.”
“How about Lance’s family?” Kirk demanded. “I can get a weather report from the newspaper.”
“Well, they’re . . . ” She fumbled for words, hesitated, and ultimately laughed. “They’re different. I feel a bit like Gulliver, finding himself an oddity in a world where the rules are all different. We’re getting used to each other, and I’ve made a couple of friends.” She smiled, thinking of Melissa and Jonathan. Remembering Catherine, she felt the smile slip a bit, and with a shrug began to trace a pattern on the ottoman with her fingernail. “I’m afraid his mother doesn’t care for me.”
“You didn’t marry his mother,” Kirk pointed out logically. “I can’t imagine my sister letting herself get pushed around by a few Boston bluebloods.” He spoke with such easy confidence that Foxy was forced to smile again.
“Who me?” she countered, accepting the strange compliment. “They grow ’em tough in the Midwest, you know.”
“Yeah, you’re a real Amazon.” The rough affection in his tone made her smile sweeten. “How’s Lance?”
“He’s fine,” she answered automatically. Nibbling on her lips, she added, “He’s been busy.”
“I imagine the plans for the new car have him pretty tied up just now.” She heard the excitement creep into Kirk’s voice and schooled herself to accept it. “It sounds like a beauty. I’m itching to get up there and see how it’s going. Lance is a damn genius at a drawing board.”
“Is he?” Foxy asked with a curious frown.
“It’s one thing to come up with ideas, Fox. I have a few of those myself. It’s another to be able to put them to practical use.” He spoke with a hin
t of envious amusement, causing Foxy to consider another aspect of her husband.
“Strange, he doesn’t seem the type for drawing boards and calculators, does he?”
“Lance isn’t any type at all,” Kirk corrected. “You should know that better than anyone.”
Foxy paused a moment in thought. Her frown deepened, then softened into a smile. “Yes, of course, you’re right. And I do know it. I’ve needed someone to remind me though. It’s also nice to hear from my brother that my husband is a genius.”
“He was always more interested in the mechanics than the race,” Kirk added absently. “So, how are you?”
“Me?” Foxy shook her head to bring her attention back to Kirk. “Oh, fine. You can tell Pam I have the prints finished and I’ll be sending them up to her.”
“Are you happy?”
She heard the same seriousness in his tone she had heard when Pam had asked the identical question. “What sort of question is that to ask a woman who’s only been married a few weeks,” she countered lightly. “You’re not supposed to come down to happy for at least a month.”
“Foxy,” Kirk began.
“I love him, Kirk,” she interrupted, voicing some of her thoughts for the first time. “It’s not always easy and it’s not always perfect, but it’s the only place for me. I’m happy and I’m sad, and I’m a hundred other things I wouldn’t be if I didn’t have Lance.”
“Okay.” She could almost see his nod of acceptance. “As long as you have what you want. Listen, I really called to let you know. Well, I thought I should tell you first . . . ”
Foxy waited a full ten seconds. “What?” she demanded on an exasperated laugh.
“I asked Pam to marry me.”
“Thank goodness.”
“You don’t sound surprised,” he complained.
A grin of pure pleasure spread over Foxy’s face. “Only that such a nifty driver could be so slow. When are you getting married?”
“An hour ago.”
“What?”
“Now you sound surprised,” Kirk stated, satisfied. “Pam wouldn’t wait until I could stand up, so we got married right here in the hospital. I tried to call you before, but nobody answered.”
“I was down in my darkroom.” With a sigh, she drew her knees up to her chest. “Oh, Kirk, I’m happy for you. I’m not sure I believe it.”
“I’m not sure I do either. She’s not like anyone else in the world.” Foxy heard the tone, recognized it, and blinked tears from her lashes.
“Yes, I know what you mean. Can I talk to her?”
“She’s not here, she’s out making arrangements for this place we’re going to rent while I’m having my leg prodded. We’re hoping to be in Boston by the first of the year so that I can keep an eye on Lance and my car, but we’ll stay near the hospital till then.”
“I see.” He’ll never change, she told herself and shut her eyes briefly. I was a fool to think differently. Everything Lance said the other night was true. Kirk will race as long as he’s capable of racing. Nothing and no one could stop him. She clearly remembered the things she had said to Lance in the dimming light of the library. Guilt all but smothered her. Foxy switched the phone to her other ear and swallowed. “I’ll be glad to have you and Pam here, even if it’s only until the season starts.” Understanding made acceptance easier.
“Will you be coming to Europe?”
“No.” Foxy shook her head and made the break. “No, I won’t be coming.”
“Pam said she didn’t think you would. Listen, they’re coming in to poke at me again. Tell Lance that Pam and I expect him to break out some champagne when we get into town. The French stuff.”
“I’ll do that,” she promised, relieved that he had let her go without a second thought. “Take care of yourself.”
“Sure. Hey, I love you, Foxy.”
“I love you, too.” After cradling the phone, Foxy drew her knees closer and wrapped her arms around them. As she watched, the snow grew thinner until it was little more than a fine mist.
He doesn’t need me anymore, she reflected before she realized the thought had been in her mind. It struck her as odd that she had not fully understood Kirk’s need for her until it no longer existed. Their need for each other had been mutual, even when she had been a child. The link between them was strong, perhaps because of the tragedy that had left them only each other. There’ll always be something special between us, Foxy brooded. But he has Pam now, and I have Lance. Resting her chin on her knees, Foxy wondered if Lance needed her. Loved her, yes, wanted her, but did Lance Matthews with his casual self-sufficiency, his easy wealth and supreme confidence need her? Was there something special about her that completed his life, or was she simply overly romantic and foolish in wanting to believe it was true? She found, to her surprise, that the answer mattered very much.
Abruptly Foxy’s senses tingled. Lifting her head, she looked up to see Lance standing in the doorway. Moving quickly, she unfolded herself from the ottoman and stood. As she met his eyes every speech she had rehearsed, edited, and re-rehearsed that morning vanished from her mind. Foolishly she tugged her sweatshirt over the hips of her jeans and wished she had worn something more dignified.
“I didn’t hear you come in,” she said, then cursed herself for the inanity.
“You were on the phone.” It was his quiet, measuring look. He stood watching her without a flicker in his eyes to hint at his thoughts. Nerves began to dance in her stomach.
“Yes, I . . . It was Kirk.” She tugged her fingers through her hair, unable to keep them still, and inadvertently betrayed her tension.
In silence, Lance continued to scan her face. He came no further into the room when he spoke again. “How is he?”
“Fine. He sounds wonderful actually. He and Pam were married this morning.” While making the announcement, Foxy began to wander around the room. She fiddled with priceless pieces of bric-a-brac and toyed with Mrs. Trilby’s careful arrangement of fall flowers.
“That pleases you?” Lance asked, studying her restless movements before he crossed to the bar. He lifted a bottle of scotch, then set it down again without pouring any.
“Yes. Yes, very much.” Taking a deep breath, she prepared to plunge into an apology for blaming him for Kirk’s decision to continue racing. “Lance, I . . . Oh.” As she turned, she found him directly in front of her. She backed up a step, surprised, and his brow lifted at her action. While Foxy dealt with feeling awkward and unsettled, Lance slipped his hands in his pockets.
“Apologies aren’t my strong suit,” he stated as she searched for a way to begin again. “In this case, however, I don’t think it’s possible to avoid the need for one.” His face was closed against her searching gaze. His eyes were on hers, but they did not speak to her. “I apologize both for the things I said to you and for what happened. That hardly makes up for it, but you have my word, nothing like that will happen again.”
His stilted formality only added to Foxy’s strain. She knew nothing she had planned to say could be said to the polite stranger who stood before her. Dropping her eyes, she studied the pattern in the Aubusson rug. “No absolution, Foxy?” Hearing the softness in his voice, she lifted her eyes again.
The strain, she noted, was not all on her side. She saw the signs of a restless night in his face and was compelled to offer comfort. She lifted a hand to his cheek. “Please, Lance, let’s forget about it. We’ve both said things these past couple of days that shouldn’t have been said.” Her eyes and mouth were grave as her palm brushed over his cheek. “I don’t like apologies either.”
Lance lifted his fingers and twined the tip of a curl around them. “You always were a strange mixture of tiger and kitten. I think I’d forgotten how disarmingly sweet you can be.” His eyes were no longer silent as he looked at her. “I love you, Foxy.”
“Lance.” Foxy flung her arms around him and burrowed her face into his neck. At last, the tension inside her uncurled. “I’ve missed you,�
� she murmured against his neck. “I didn’t know where you’d gone, and the house seemed so empty.”
“I went into the office,” he told her as he slipped his hands under her shirt to caress the warm length of her back. “You should have called if you were lonely.”
“I almost did, but I thought . . . ” She sighed and closed her eyes, wonderfully content. “I didn’t want it to seem as if I was checking on you.”
“Idiot,” he muttered, then tilted her head back and kissed her briefly. “You’re my wife, remember?”
“You have to keep reminding me,” she suggested and smiled. “I don’t feel like a wife yet, and I don’t know the rules.”
“We make our own.” This time when he kissed her, it was long and lingering. In instant response, her bones liquified. Her mouth clung to his, avid and sweet while his quiet moan of pleasure warmed her skin.
“I want champagne tonight,” she murmured against his ear. “I feel like a celebration.”
“For Pam and Kirk?” Lance questioned before he came back to her mouth.
“For us first,” Foxy countered, drawing away far enough to smile at him. “Then for Pam and Kirk.”
“All right. But tomorrow I want to go to the movies and eat popcorn.”
“Oh yes!” Her face lit with pleasure. Her eyes danced. “Yes, something either terribly sad or terribly funny. And I want a pizza afterward with pepperoni.”
“A very demanding woman.” Lance laughed as he took her hand and lifted it to his lips. Suddenly his fingers tightened on hers. Sensing a dramatic change of mood, Foxy stared down at their joined hands. Slowly Lance turned hers to the side and examined the light trail of mauve shadows on her wrist. “It seems I owe you yet another apology.”
Distressed that the stiffness was back in his manner, Foxy moved toward him. “Lance, don’t. It’s nothing.”