"Is this what you saw?" he asked again.
She squeezed her eyes shut, trying to picture the scene in her mind. But the images blended. The fine hairs that dusted the fingers caressing the woman's bare bottom were red, not black. And one of the fingers bore a wedding ring. Charlie's hadn't. Not then. She shook her head blindly. "No!" she said.
"Show me what you saw, Molly," he demanded.
She took a deep breath and tried to edge the knee between his thighs forward to press it against him. And found she couldn't. She could not. His hand had come down to grasp her above her knee so tightly he would leave bruises. His other hand clutched her hip, holding her away from him. His grip was implacable. She could not move against him.
Someone watching from behind her wouldn't know that. That person would see only his hands on her in a seemingly suggestive position.
She opened her eyes and gazed down at the black ones staring up at her.
"This is what you saw, Molly," he said. "This is how it happened. She was coming on to me, and I wasn't having any part of it."
"Oh, no, Charlie." They couldn't have lost so much over something like that.
"You would never ask, Moll. Only accuse. This is what you saw, honey."
She bit her teeth into her bottom lip and a wounded sound escaped her. Tears spilled from her eyes to splash his cheeks, and he let her go.
Shakily she separated from him, straightened her clothing, and walked across the room. Wiping the wetness from his own cheeks, he watched her weep into trembling hands, her sobs tearing at him.
"What else did you see, Molly?" He suspected. God knew, he'd suspected for a long time. He had to find out for certain.
Her sobs became less intense, quieter, but she kept her face hidden in, her hands.
"Did you see your daddy?"
She went very still, then raised her head, her teeth set. He had hoped he was wrong, but he knew in that moment he wasn't. He knew, just as certainly, that she hadn't misinterpreted what she'd seen that time.
"How old were you, honey?"
"Nine."
Her quiet word stung him like a lash. God. Nine years old. No shades of gray at that age. Everything black and white, right or wrong. No allowances made for a hopeless, loveless marriage. No understanding for a woman who didn't like to be touched in that way and a man who couldn't live without those touches. He'd heard stories of how it was in that house. His mother had worked there. He ached for Molly, and for himself, and for what that ruined marriage had cost them.
He didn't want this distance between them, but he knew she couldn't cross it. Heavily, he rose from the chair and walked to her. He wanted to take her in his arms and hold her, but he sensed she wasn't ready for that yet. She stopped twisting her fingers and spread them, examining her nails, in a gesture he remembered from long ago.
"He'd lie to me, Charlie. All the time. I'd ask where he'd been...what he'd been doing, and he'd lie." She gave a short, humorless laugh. "As if I didn't know. As if every kid in school didn't tell me."
"He was weak, honey, and ashamed. But he loved you. When are you going to let yourself admit you loved him, too?"
She shook her head in denial first, and then she turned her face into his chest, sobbing in capitulation. He wrapped his arms around her, and rocked her, and crooned to her while she cried the tears she hadn't been able to shed that awful night in the past.
As she quieted he lifted strands of her hair and combed his fingers through them, and talked. "He wasn't a bad person, honey. When my daddy was laid off for that spell? You remember? He paid for Lucy to have her tonsils out."
Molly turned her head to the side on his chest and sniffed. "I didn't know that."
He stroked her back and kissed the top of her head. "Mmm-hmm. Half the town had stories like that. He didn't have much left when he died because he was such an easy touch for every hard-luck case that came down the pike. And your momma, too. You remember when she used to go read to the old people in that high-rise for the elderly on
River Road
?"
She smoothed her palm over his chest. "Yes, I do."
"They weren't bad people, Molly. Just bad for each other." He chuckled low. "It's ironic as hell. That's what they used to say about us."
She lifted her head and looked up at him with that old pagan-god expression on her face. He figured, what the hell? Let her know. "I came looking for you...after we split...but you were gone." She was so still he thought she must be holding her breath. "I talked to your momma." If he'd had any doubts about that incident, her gasp dispelled them. "She never told you?" She leaned back in his arms and closed her eyes, shaking her head.
"Well. That explains a lot." Bringing her head back to his chest, he tangled his fingers in her hair and massaged her scalp the way he liked to do. "She wasn't being cruel, honey. I was a little...tight...that night, which she was gracious enough to point out. I'd been slammin' 'em back, workin' up my courage at the Blue Moon, listening to the folks tell me how wonderful I was. I started to believe them. So, I thought I'd take a hike out to your place. Figured with all this money I was making, how could a woman resist? Anyway, there I was, cocky, brash, full of myself...."
"Not you!"
He chuckled. "You're a little mouthier than you used to be, Mrs. Cochrane. We're gonna have to find a better use for that tart tongue of yours." Her muffled laughter warmed his chest. He continued to stroke her gently. "So, I'd come looking for you, and you were gone. She wouldn't tell me where you went." He paused and his hand stilled in her hair. "I always thought she'd told you I'd been there."
"No, Charlie."
He tugged on her hair to make her look at him. "Don't hold it against her," he said firmly. "I had some growing up to do. She knew I'd been sniffin' after her daughter for years. I was her worst nightmare."
She didn't disagree with him. Just looked a little sad. Like she could use some diversion. As long as it was a night for revealing secrets, he may as well go whole-hog. "You know, before you threw me out, there had never been any other woman for me. I'd never been with anyone but you."
Her head jerked back, her big brown eyes widening and her mouth falling open. He'd like to freeze-frame that look. "You mean—"
"Yeah, that's what I mean."
Her eyes moved over his face, searching. "But, that first time...you knew what you were doing."
"Well, it's not that difficult. Let's just say I took to it a little better than I did algebra." Behind her back he linked the fingers on one of his hands around the wrist of the other just above her bottom. "Besides, that's what big brothers are for." He gave her his sweetest smile and watched her eyes widen even more.
"You didn't discuss us with Clee—"
"I didn't tell him who. Although," he acknowledged with a shrug, "I think he might have guessed." He could see another doubt flicker across her face.
"You were prepared."
"Honey." He rested his forehead against hers. "We were gettin' steadily more hot and heavy every time we were together. That wasn't the place or the circumstances I'd have picked, but I knew it was only a matter of time. And big brother or no, I did know how babies were made."
She slid her hand up his chest and cradled his jaw, rubbing her thumb along his bottom lip. "I saw you with so many girls, Charlie...."
He caught her hand and kissed her palm. "I was dancing with them, Molly, not sleeping with them." He lifted his head and looked her straight in the eye. "You asked me to wait for you and I told you I would."
He could see that really surprised her. "I never meant—"
"Now's a fine time to tell me," he said with a laugh. But he quickly turned serious again. "You have to trust me, Molly. I was true to you before there were any vows between us. You have to think what you're saying about me, what you're calling me, every time you think that I cheat."
She lowered her gaze to his chest, a faraway look on her face. "I know that, but it's so hard, given what you do for a living."
"That's an excuse, Moll. If I sold shoes for a living, you'd be wondering whose foot was in my lap and exactly what it was doing there." She had the grace to blush. "I know you're leery. I understand. But I can't spend my whole life trying to justify myself to you. You have to trust me."
She nodded slowly. "I'll try."
He sighed and decided to broach another topic. Delicately. "I hope Cleeve's learned something over the years. His instructions were sorely lacking."
Her head shot up again and she gave a surprised laugh. "Charlie! You were always—"
"Quick. I was quick." He sighed and sent her a sidelong look. "I've learned it should take more than a minute and a half, though damned if I've been able to demonstrate that to you just yet." He laid caressing fingers on the back of her neck. "Will you let me show you tonight?"
He watched the blush rise from the neckline of that sexy dress all the way to the roots of her hair, and he couldn't help but wonder how far down it extended. Looking at her, he expelled a tight breath of frustration.
"I've got to go back out there and make nice with all these people who want to donate money, Moll." He had a short list of things he'd rather do.
"I should go, too."
He looked at her flushed face. "No. You go home, check on Tobie. I'll make your excuses."
He reached behind her and shoved the clutter on the dressing table aside with his forearm. Then he grasped her waist and lifted her onto the table, stepping between her legs and sliding her dress way up high.
"Charlie!"
"I just want to make sure you'll wait up for me, honey. Did I tell you how much I like this dress?" "Well, yes..."
"The color's a knockout..." He spread his hands on her thighs and she tried to bring them together, but he was standing in the way. "And it covers you up nicely." Her legs tightened around him and he liked that sensation real well. He nudged his burgeoning erection against her to let her know that, and with a rush of breath she gave up trying to get rid of him altogether and settled her shoeless feet on the backs of his thighs. He liked that sensation even better.
"Your dress is modest, but..." He edged his fingers under the hem. That was just a distraction, and it worked fine. "Everything is so..." She was totally unprepared when he moved his hands to her neckline, slipped his fingers into the tops of the sleeves and pulled them down her arms. "Accessible."
"Charlie!"
Her bra came away, too—it was just a scrap of a thing, served no useful purpose as far as he could see—and the lush bounty of her breasts was exposed to his feasting eyes. He really didn't play fair. Positioned as they were with him in her way, she couldn't even bring her hands up to cover herself, which she seemed anxious to do. So he did it for her. Well, he cupped her breasts, anyway, and covered her nipples with his circling thumbs.
"Charlie!"
"Molly, there's one thing we'll have to agree on. You can't be saying my name like that unless you want to rush this."
His name was on the tip of her tongue again, he could tell, but she bit it back and instead buried her face in the curve of his shoulder. He wanted a taste, just a taste, and then they would stop. He kissed her throat, trailed his tongue down the ridge of her collarbone, nibbled his way over the soft swell below.
She tried to lift her arms and couldn't, so settled her hands at his waist. "Someone might..."
"Door's locked." He bent his head and closed his mouth over the dusky crest he sought. He'd forgotten how soft she was, how warm, the fragrance of her skin. A taste wasn't enough. He swirled his tongue on her and pulled her nipple deeply into his mouth. He felt her arch closer, felt her feet press into his thighs and her fingers dig into his hips. But it was her whimpers, those helpless sounds of abandon wrenched from her throat, that brought him back. He dragged his mouth away from her and lifted his head.
She leaned against the mirror, that red hair intensified by its reflection. Her breasts rose and fell with her rapid pants. She was as aroused as he'd ever seen her. As aroused as he'd ever made her.
She rolled a shoulder toward him, lifting a breast in silent invitation, but he shook his head. "No, honey. We're not gonna do this on a dressing table, in a rush. Not this time. This was foreplay. You've never had enough of it. But you will."
Still, her lips were already parted, puffy and red, as if she'd been biting down on them. Her eyes were already half-closed. It seemed a shame to waste such an invitation. "Just one more kiss, Moll, and then you're going home." He placed his mouth on hers and slid his tongue inside.
Half a dozen kisses later he released her, pulled her hands away from his belt buckle, and tried to steady his breathing. "You okay to drive?" he said, still gasping.
She shoved her tumbled hair off her face and gave a shaky nod, rearranging her clothes and batting his hands away when he tried to help.
"I think we'll sneak you out the back way, Mrs. Cochrane. You're a mess."
She threw him a quelling look. "Well, you've got sequins stuck to your shirt, and I'd give this—" her hand caressed the bulge in his jeans "—a little time before you go out there and make a spectacle of yourself."
"You wait up for me, hear?" He grasped her hand and kissed the palm. "I'll walk you to the car."
"Okay. But don't kiss me again."
It was going on one before he was able to bum a ride back to the house. He offered his thanks for the lift, slammed the door and headed for the porch. The house looked completely dark, unless that was a glimmer of light on the second floor toward the back. Their bedroom was dark. Maybe his lazybones had given up on him.
He climbed the steps, working the jaw that ached from smiling. He'd had his picture taken with so many people he was still seeing spots. But it was little enough to ask of him, considering all the good this cause would do.
Suddenly he caught a whiff of an acrid scent that made his mouth water. He turned his head to the side and saw a man standing in the shadows against the porch balustrade, the red glow of a cigarette at about chest height.
He ambled over. "What are you doin' out here, Pop?"
"Aw, I don't want to smoke in your house. Everything's newly decorated. Smells fresh...."
"Did Molly—"
"No! Molly didn't say anything. She's just as gracious as she could be. Don't you go gettin' on her."
Charlie licked his lips. That smoke smelled real good. "Could I have a cigarette, Pop?"
The old man exhaled a lungful and looked at his son.
"What?"
"Well, you know how it is. Sometimes one would taste real good."
Charlie watched his dad rub a finger over his white mustache. A sure sign he was going to get a lecture. The older man cleared his throat.
"Let me just tell you something. I'm smoking out here 'cause this is your house, and that's fine, I don't want to stink it up. But when I go home, your momma says, 'Sam, we've got new carpets.'" He paused and picked a piece of tobacco off his tongue. "They're nice carpets, by the way, Kick. Thank you very much."
Charlie lifted a booted foot to the porch rail and propped an elbow on his knee. "That's okay."
"Anyway, be that as it may, I can't smoke in my own home."
He was really getting cranked up about this, Charlie thought, pulling at his lip.
"Driving up here, miserable as the traffic was, she wouldn't let me smoke in the car. She wants me to stop. Man my age. What do you think of that?"
"I think I'm not gonna get a cigarette."
His father looked at him again. "You were smart to quit. Now don't go do something stupid."
Charlie gave a snort. Not likely. He could never seem to get any cooperation. His father stretched and he could hear his old bones creaking.
"I'm afraid I let the cat out of the bag today about Molly's one experience with the weed."
Charlie thought for a minute and started to laugh. "I forgot about that."
"Yeah. Well, Tobie won't."
They laughed together, companionably, then quieted, listenin
g to the night sounds. "She never came to you, did she, Pop?" Charlie asked after a time. The cigarette glowed brighter for a moment before parallel streams of smoke issued from his father's nostrils.
"When you got her in trouble, you mean."
Leave it to the old man to use that old-fashioned phrase. He hadn't heard it in years. But the man was right. It must have been big trouble for Molly.
"Yeah."
His father gripped the railing with both hands and leaned heavily on it. "I raised you better than that, Kick."
Holy Hannah! He was gonna get a lecture on this, too. He shifted uneasily and blew out a long breath. His dad turned to look at him and he felt the tips of his ears burning like he was seventeen again, being told to quit making calf eyes at that little redhead who, no matter how nicely she had filled out, was too young to know her own mind. Around that time he'd gotten the sit-down about responsible young manhood and birth control. The talking-to must have done some good, because Molly was the only woman he'd ever been with where he didn't always take care of that particular necessity himself.
"I've got nothing to say on that subject, Pop."
"Meaning you thought birth control was all covered, so to speak. Well, as you found out, accidents can happen. Even in a marriage, accidents can happen. You have to stick around and be sure."
Charlie twisted to look at his dad. That was the first time the old man ever said anything about birth control in connection with his own marriage. He pushed his hat back, feeling as if the ground was shifting beneath his feet. He'd been born eleven months after Cleeve. Did that put him in the category of a fender bender? He really didn't need this. All he'd wanted was a smoke.
"Did she come to you. Dad?"
"Hell, no." He crushed his cigarette out on the sole of his shoe and tossed it into the bushes. "I'd have been after you with a pitchfork so fast you'd have been lucky to drag what was left of your sorry butt to the altar."
Bad For Each Other Page 17