by Sandra Brown
He was talking in a detached voice, but the light in his eyes belied his disinterest. "Let's see," he said, and tossed the lingerie on the washing machine.
Before she could guess his purpose, he came to her and closed his eyes. By feel his hands accurately found her breasts and closed over them. His palms made lazy, slow circles over her. He caressed her tenderly, pressing his fingers into her softness. When he felt the expected reaction under the maddening teasing of his thumbs, he opened one eye and looked down at her.
"Just as I thought," he whispered. "A perfect thirty-four B." His lips melded into hers in a kiss that promised as much as it fulfilled. Her lips were open and ready for him, matching his ardor with equal passion. His hands left her breasts, and his arms encircled her and drew her against him in an encompassing embrace.
The muscles of his thighs strained through the denim of his jeans and pressed into hers as she arched against him. Her spine was explored by an inquisitive hand before it settled on the curve of her hip and imprisoned her next to his hard strength.
Her hands went around his neck and pulled his head down to her. She turned her face with an abandoned movement so that her features were caressed by the silky mustache. It brushed her chin, her lips, her nose. It feathered her cheekbones and flirted with her eyelids.
He indulged her play until his hunger for her overcame generosity. He captured her mouth and plundered it with his tongue. The silver-brown strands of his hair were pulled through her fingers, which tingled with nerve endings newly born.
"Lauri, you can't imagine what torture this is for me," he grated when he lifted his mouth from hers and settled it against her ear. To clarify his meaning Drake cupped her jean-clad bottom in his hands and ground his hips against her.
A thrill of desire knifed through her that was so startling, she was suddenly fearful of her own response. Drake, she knew, was beyond reasoning, but one of them had to remain sane. Were this to continue, she might realize fulfillment of her longing for him, but the price would be too high. She couldn't let it happen.
"Drake," she said with a sob, "we mustn't."
His breathing was uneven as he rasped in her ear, "Yes, we must. If we don't, I'm going to explode."
"Drake, please," she said desperately, and tried to push him away. "No, no," she pleaded, for she was still in danger of returning to that plane of oblivion where passion colored all rational thought.
He raised his head and glared down at her. The hands gripping her upper arms were like steel bands. "Why? Dammit, why?" He shook her slightly. "Do you get some kinky thrill from doing this to me?" He thrust his hips against her again.
She swallowed hard in embarrassment and diverted her eyes from his penetrating gaze. She had felt the unmistakable power of his desire, and it had quickened her senses with a renewed longing. She wanted to say, "If you loved me, I would make love to you in an instant. But I can't be a substitute for a ghost. I can't be hurt again by someone who needs me only when the mood strikes him." She couldn't say any of that. Even if she did, it would make no difference; they would still be at square one. He would still love Susan's memory.
"Drake, you know it's not wise for us to play with fire this way. If we became involved, I would have to leave Jennifer. I'm living with you, but only in the sense that we're sharing an address. Paul tried to talk me into living with him before we were married. I couldn't do it then. I can't now. It's old-fashioned, I know, but that's how I was brought up."
"Yeah?" he slurred. "Well I've been brought up frequently of late, and have nothing to show for it but an ache in my loins."
She gasped at his crudity. "That's disgusting," she spat. "Let me go!"
Roughly he shoved her away from him as he took a step backward. To their common surprise she went with him and barged into his chest. His arms went around her for support.
"What—" she started to ask as Drake bellowed with laughter.
"I don't know to whom this retribution belongs, but it appears that we're welded together."
"What?" she asked incredulously.
"Our belt buckles are hooked together," he explained. She glanced down at her waist and saw that he was right. His jeans were belted with a large, ornate buckle on a western leather belt. She had on jeans, too, and though her buckle wasn't western like his, somehow the metal of the two had become enmeshed during their embrace.
She looked up at him in shock. "What do we do?" she asked.
He was amused by their predicament. "We can have a helluva lot of fun." He paused when her eyes opened wide in alarm. "Or we can try to get them undone," he added smoothly. "In either case I can't see what I'm doing. Move your torso to the left a little so I can see."
When her breasts raked across his chest as she did as he directed, she jerked her head up to see if he had noticed, and his delighted, silly grin confirmed that he had. "See how much fun this is?" he mocked.
"Will you please hurry," she admonished. "What would happen if the house caught on fire?"
"We'd give the firemen something to talk about for years to come."
"Drake—"
"Okay, okay, party pooper." He studied the metal buckles as well as he could from his angle. "Slip your hand into the waistband of my jeans," he said at last.
Lauri looked up at him skeptically. "Oh, sure," she said dryly.
He couldn't help but break into a big grin. "I'm not kidding. Slide your hand behind my buckle, and when I say so, push out on it."
She sighed and eyed him warily as she tentatively slipped her hand into the tight jeans. His shirttail was parted under the waistband, and her hand encountered warm skin covered with satiny hair. Inadvertently her eyes trailed to the neck of his shirt, where the dark curls were crisp and crinkly. The contrast was electrifying. Instinctively her fingers moved under the tight jeans to investigate further.
His eyes darkened for an instant, and a muscle in his jaw twitched, but he looked down quickly to the trapped buckles. "Now I do this," he said as he slid his hand into Lauri's waistband. She gasped and sucked in her breath in reaction, creating a hollow in her stomach and succeeding only in giving his hand more freedom.
"I'm only doing what's necessary," he said sanctimoniously. But his fingers stirred against the smooth skin of her abdomen, and Lauri could feel her pulse pounding through her veins.
"Move your head to the left again," he said near her head. His breath fanned the tendrils of auburn hair on her temple. In response to the curious fingers under her jeans, her breasts pressed hard and pointed against his chest. She couldn't raise her eyes to look at him.
"Okay … now push out on my buckle," he said. She did as she was told while his fingers worked from her side. In a few seconds there was a sound of grating metal and then the buckles snapped apart.
Lauri quickly withdrew her hand. Drake's hand abandoned the warmth inside her jeans much more slowly, but she stepped away from him immediately.
Placing her hands on her hips, she demanded, "What was so difficult? Why couldn't I have pushed my own buckle at the same time you did yours?"
He shrugged nonchalantly and leaned against the washing machine. "I guess you could have, but elbows would have been sticking out all over the place, and I probably couldn't've seen what I was doing." His eyes began to twinkle. "And it wouldn't have been nearly as stimulating."
"You – you—" she stammered, stamping her foot and shoving him out of the way to retrieve her frilly underwear. "From now on I'll do my own laundry, thank you!"
As she stormed out of the laundry room his laughter followed her.
* * *
"I'll get it," Lauri called as she crossed the living room to answer the front-door bell. She had left Drake in the kitchen to do the breakfast dishes when she and Jennifer went into the classroom to begin lessons.
It was three days since the scene in the laundry room, but any recollection of it precipitated shallow breathing and a rapid heartbeat, which were annoying. Lauri had studiously avoided Drake whenever
possible. Much to her irritation he regarded her avoidance as highly amusing.
He stalked her. He watched every movement and calculated her reactions to any given situation. In defense she showed him her temper often, but he only grinned sardonically, provoking her further.
She opened the front door and greeted the large bearded man standing on the other side of the threshold. "John! Come in."
"Thank you, Lauri. I hope I'm not interrupting anything."
"No. Jennifer and I are about to start her lessons, but they can wait. She'll want to see you. You're one of her favorite people, you know." Lauri smiled up at the man whom she had privately tagged "the gentle giant."
One afternoon she and Jennifer had been strolling the hilly streets of Whispers and were attracted to a woodcrafts shop. The proprietor was John Meadows. He was an enormous man with wide shoulders and a massive chest that tapered into legs that were as large as tree trunks. His dark brown hair hung almost to his shoulders and blended into a luxuriant beard. Sad brown eyes looked out at the world from under shaggy brows.
Incongruous with his size, which could have been intimidating, was his soft-spoken, gentle, and kind disposition. He had been immediately enchanted by the red-haired young woman who walked into his shop holding the hand of an angelic-looking child.
The shop was small and cluttered and smelled pungently of wood and varnish. John made furniture as well as beautiful wood carvings. His large hairy hands handled the intricate tools of his trade like a master.
Lauri had been delighted when he spoke in sign to Jennifer, and the three had developed a fast friendship. Several days a week, when Lauri had an errand in town, she and Jennifer would visit John while he worked.
Jennifer bounded out of the classroom with unrestrained joy after Lauri informed her of their guest. She ran to John, who leaned down and lifted the little girl high over his bead with his brawny arms. She squealed in delight.
Her high laughter brought Drake out of the kitchen. He stared curiously with narrowed eyes at the overall-clad man who was holding his daughter with such familiarity.
I've brought you a present, Jennifer, John signed as he returned her to the floor and knelt down on one knee beside her. He reached into the deep pockets of his overalls and pulled out a tissue-wrapped box.
Jennifer took it shyly and looked toward Lauri for direction and approval.
"What do you say to John, Jennifer?" Lauri asked.
Thank you, Jennifer signed.
John returned a You're welcome.
"Go ahead and open it," Lauri instructed when Jennifer only played with the red ribbon tied around the package. Jennifer giggled as the indulgent adults looked on. She tore the ribbon and paper off the box and lifted the lid. Inside were three figurines representing a family of bears. Jennifer made a small ooooh sound as she reverently lifted the carved wooden pieces out of the box.
"I thought you might use them in coordination with a story. There's a papa bear, mama bear, and baby bear," John said with his gentle smile and soft voice.
"Oh, John, they're lovely," Lauri remarked, bending down to inspect the figures. "I certainly can use them, and I add my thanks along with Jennifer's. She'll treasure them for a long time, I'm sure."
"I don't believe I've had the pleasure," Drake cut in with a voice twinged with sarcasm.
He walked up to John and extended his hand. "Drake Rivington, Jennifer's father."
Was it Lauri's imagination, or had he stressed his relationship to his daughter?
"I'm sorry, Drake. I didn't see you or I would have introduced you," Lauri said. "This is Jennifer's and my friend John Meadows. He's a wood craftsman and has a delightful shop here in Whispers. Jennifer and I made his acquaintance the first week we were here, and have enjoyed visiting him ever since."
"Hello, Mr. Rivington." John's hand surrounded and obscured Drake's. "It's a pleasure to meet you. You have a beautiful child. I've enjoyed her company, not to mention Lauri's." His brown eyes alighted on Lauri with obvious warmth. Neither he nor Lauri saw the twitch in Drake's jaw and the flash of anger that flickered in his green eyes.
"How long have you lived in Whispers?" Drake asked. John returned his attention to Drake and faced him politely. "Ever since I left college. About eight years ago."
"How many years were you in college? You no doubt obtained several degrees." Lauri was stunned by Drake's rudeness. He was deliberately baiting John, and she couldn't understand why. She glared at him in irritation, but he was staring at John and ignoring her.
John didn't seem bothered by Drake's hostility and answered pleasantly, "I only have one degree, in philosophy."
"Hmm," said Drake, leaving the unmistakable notion that he meant, "That figures."
Lauri was furious with him, but controlled the anger in her voice as she asked John, "Would you like to sit down and have a cup of coffee?"
"No, I have to get back and open up the shop. I'm an hour late as it is, but I wanted to get these over to Jennifer." He glanced down at the child, who was sitting on the floor with her family of bears and chattering to them, unaffected by the tension between the three adults. "I also needed to tell you that I can't make our standing date this Tuesday night. I have to go to Santa Fe and pick up some supplies. I may be there for several days."
Out of the corner of her eye Lauri saw Drake pull himself up straighter and cross his arms over his chest in a gesture of annoyance.
"That's all right, John. We'll come down to see you when you get back."
"Good." He smiled gently at her and then turned to Drake. "it was nice to meet you, Mr. Rivington. Please come down to the shop sometime."
"I doubt that the occasion will ever arise, but I'll keep it in mind." He looked at Lauri slyly before he added, "Now that I'm living here, I doubt that Lauri and Jennifer will be seeing you as often. I plan to keep them busy."
Lauri was suffused with anger and abashment. His implication was clear, and John hadn't missed it. He looked down at her with a quizzical expression. Then the shaggy brows smoothed placidly over his brown eyes. They reflected only understanding and were without censure. Lauri wanted to hug him for his innate kindness and tolerance.
He knelt down to Jennifer's level and they communicated several sentences. Lauri tried to get Drake's attention, but he purposely kept his eyes away from her as he examined his thumbnail with absorbing thoroughness.
"I'm sorry I've kept you from your schedule, Lauri," John said as he stood up, towering over her. "I hope I'll see you soon."
"Thank you again for stopping by and bringing Jennifer the gift. Come back anytime," she said sincerely.
John cast a wary eye toward Drake, but he only nodded and said succinctly, "Mr. Meadows," and didn't second Lauri's invitation to John.
John returned Drake's nod, said, "Lauri," then stepped through the door and lumbered down the steps from the porch.
Lauri shut the door softly, controlling the impulse to slam it with the fuming anger she wanted to direct toward Drake. She turned around slowly to face him. He was waiting for her with both hands on his hips.
She was seething, and her voice quivered when she said, "You were unspeakably, unreasonably rude to that nice, considerate man, and I want to know why."
"And I want to know why you have been dragging my daughter around with some middle-aged hippie."
"Hippie!" she cried furiously. "What history book did you find that in?"
"He's right out of the sixties, for God's sake. Dirty, hairy. It's a wonder he wasn't wearing ropes of beads around his neck. And his name would be John. The Beloved," he ridiculed. "His type can't make it in the real world, so they become professional students or hibernate in mountain towns and call themselves artisans. He looks like a yeti. Or Grizzly Adams."
"You wear a mustache, Mr. Rivington," she stressed.
"Mine doesn't have flecks of Crest toothpaste in it either," he shouted back at her.
"You just said he was dirty! Make up your mind."
He glared at her dangerously and crossed to her in two long strides. He gripped her upper arms and pulled her to him. "What is this standing date every Tuesday night, huh? Do you take Jennifer along on that too?"
She extricated herself from his grasp and shoved away from him. "Yes, we do. Each Tuesday night John keeps his shop open an hour later. We meet him when he closes and go to dinner."
"I'm sure, being the nice, considerate man he is," Drake sneered, "that he brings you home. How long does he stay? Does he open his little shop an hour later the next morning?" His voice dripped with sweetness though his face was set in rigid lines. What he was suggesting was so ridiculous that, had Lauri not been so angry, she would have laughed at him.
"That's none of your damn business," she lashed out.
"Like hell it isn't. This is my house!"
"Not everyone is ruled by their baser instincts – as you are, Mr. Rivington," she accused scathingly.
"I'll show you my baser instincts," he growled. "I've been wanting to for a long time." He captured her again, and this time there was no escaping. His arms pinioned hers to the sides of her body. Efforts to break his hold would be futile, but Lauri refused him the kiss he sought. She clamped her lips and teeth together, denying the inclination to relax them beneath his crushing mouth.
After long moments he raised his head. She had her eyes squeezed tightly shut, but curiosity got the best of her, and she opened them to slits. His face hovered over hers. "You're afraid to kiss me, aren't you? You know what happens to you each time you do, and you fight it, don't you?"
She couldn't believe his audacity and conceit. "No!" she exclaimed. He smiled lazily and dropped his arms.
"Then prove it," he taunted. "Kiss me and convince me that it doesn't make you tingle all over." His eyes were challenging as they raked over her, pausing at the places he knew would react to his kiss.