The Mother of His Child

by Sandra Field

  Her mouth dry, Marnie said, “Did you make a dinner reservation?”

  He nodded. “At Pierrot’s, down by the harbor.”

  It was time to put her plan into action. Or abandon it altogether and never tell him the difference.

  What kind of woman was she? She was darned if she was going to play it safe. “I just have to make a quick phone call,” she said, taking the phone book out of her magazine rack and looking up the number for Pierrot’s. She dialed and when the receiver was picked up said pleasantly, “I believe you have a reservation for two people this evening…the name’s Huntingdon? I’m really sorry, we won’t be able to make it. We’ll be in another time, I’m sure. Thank you.” Then she put the phone down.

  Cal was standing very still at one end of the chesterfield. Marnie said rapidly, “There’s a bottle of white wine in the refrigerator. Why don’t you open it while I get the chips and dip?” He said nothing. He looked totally at a loss, like someone who’d been knocked right off balance. “Please?” Marnie quavered.

  Cal ran his fingers around his collar as though it was too tight. “What’s going on, Marnie?”

  “The wine, Cal.”

  She’d noticed before how quickly he could move for so big a man; but tonight he was clumsy, bumping into the arm of the chesterfield as he passed it. She trailed after him into the kitchen, wishing her stomach felt less hollow and her nerves less jumpy. Salad dressing, a loaf of garlic bread and a package of wild rice stood on the counter, along with a wooden bowl of sour-cream-and-onion chips and a small bowl of dip. But Cal was staring at the lemon meringue pie that was sitting on a rack by the stove to cool. The meringue had cooperated beautifully, its peaks browned to perfection. He said in a voice she’d never heard him use before, “You made that for me?”

  “Yes.” She braced her back against the edge of the counter, wishing she could read his mind. “The trout fillets are marinating, ready for the barbecue. Cal, is it okay, what I’ve done? You don’t mind?”

  He looked over at her. She knew her cheeks were flushed with nervousness and her eyes glittering for the same reason; but she couldn’t have known how vulnerable the curve of her mouth was. “No,” he said in the same unreadable voice, “I don’t mind.”

  “There’s something else I need to say,” Marnie faltered. “I love Kit, she’s my daughter. How could I not love her? But this evening isn’t about Kit. It’s about you and me.”

  “You and me,” Cal repeated, his face expressionless. Then, as if he craved action, he walked past her to the refrigerator, took out the wine bottle, opened it and poured wine into the two glasses sitting on the counter. None of his movements had their usual economy.

  He said in a matter-of-fact tone, almost as though he was talking to a stranger, “This is going to sound very obvious, but I’m going to say it anyway. Once we make love, Marnie, there’s no going back—we can’t undo it. Are you sure you want to?”

  Suddenly afraid that he was speaking more to himself than to her, she whispered, “Yes, I do…but what about you?”

  His answer was to pass her one glass and raise his own. “To paddling the rapids.”

  “To scaling the cliff.”

  For the first time, Cal smiled. “You need to know something about me—I don’t even do ladders.”

  “I don’t do guerrillas, Cal,” she said, and drank.

  He reached over for her glass, put it back on the counter beside his and took her in his arms. She felt the shock run through him as he discovered she was naked beneath her gown. With an inarticulate groan, he lowered his head and kissed her like a man who’d been starving for longer than he could remember and suddenly sees a feast spread before him. A feast such as he couldn’t have imagined.

  Marnie had never been kissed like that in her life. Every nerve in her body responded; she strained to him, caressing the silky dark hair at his nape, her tongue dancing with his in a way that filled her with delight and desire.

  Abruptly, Cal pulled away from her, his expression making her heart sink. “You couldn’t have done anything more calculated to make me happy than what you’ve done here tonight,” he said in a chopped voice. “But we can’t make love. I didn’t bring any protection—figured that way I’d stay honest.”

  The color deepened in her cheeks. “I thought you might not. So I went to a drugstore last night, one where nobody knows me. The one that’s halfway to Halifax and stays open until midnight.”

  He threw back his head and laughed. “I wish I could’ve been a fly on the wall. Now that’s what I call living dangerously.”

  She said with great dignity, “There was far too much choice, so I grabbed whichever ones were nearest and got out of there as fast as I could. Give me a 5.11 climb any day of the week.”

  “Sure you got the right thing?” he teased.

  “Cal, I can read as well as the next woman.” Her smile was impish. “To further put your mind to rest, Christine and Donald are at a party thirty miles down the road.”

  “So what are we waiting for?” Cal said.

  The other thing she’d done in her lunch hour was change the sheets on her bed and put a little bunch of sweet-smelling mayflowers on her bureau. Hurriedly, Marnie took a big gulp of her wine, took him by the hand and led him out of the kitchen into her bedroom.

  Not for Marnie ruffled sheers and pretty pastels. Her quilt had been made by an old lady from Faulkner; Marnie had fallen in love with its bright squares of primary colors. The rug by her bed was forest green, the curtains the same shade. On the little bedside table was a scented candle and the array of foil envelopes.

  She didn’t know why she’d bothered with the candle; despite her drawn curtains, it was daylight. Nowhere to hide, she thought, and in sudden terror wondered what she’d do if she didn’t like sex with Cal any more than she’d liked it with Terry.

  One thing was certain. She wouldn’t have the nerve to take her purchases back to the drugstore.

  Cal hauled off his jacket, tie and belt, tossed them over her chair and bent to pull off his shoes and socks. Then he said, “Sweetheart, don’t look so frightened. I wouldn’t hurt you for the world, surely you know that.”

  Sweetheart… Marnie repeated silently to herself, and knew it for the truth. “I’m not scared, not anymore,” she said aloud, and walked trustingly into his arms. “Although I don’t have a clue how we go about this.”

  Smiling, he said, “I think you’ll soon realize that one thing leads to another.”

  His hands were firm along the long curve of her spine as he bent to kiss her, a slow, deep kiss of mutual exploration that set Marnie’s pulses pounding in her ears. With enthusiasm, if not expertise, she kissed him back, pressing her body into his, suddenly impatient to experience with Cal all that she’d missed for so long. As though he caught her mood, Cal swung her onto the bed, covering her with his body, kissing her as though he’d never kissed a woman before. As though she was the first one, thought Marnie, and fumbled for the buttons on his shirt.

  Between them, awkward with haste, they removed his shirt, which fell to the floor beside the bed. Marnie let her mouth slide to the pulse at the base of his throat, then lower, her fingers tangled in his body hair. “You don’t know how I’ve longed to do this,” she murmured. “You taste so good.”

  Her chestnut hair lay on the white sheet like little tongues of fire. Cal threw one thigh over hers and pushed himself up on his elbow, smoothing the silky fabric of her gown over the sweet swell of her breast, over and over again, watching her face as she trembled with pleasure. He said roughly, “I want to see you naked, Marnie,” and tugged at the hem of her gown.

  In a flurry of fabric, the gown was discarded. Suddenly shy, Marnie lay still beneath him, watching as his eyes roamed her body from the fullness of her breasts to the slight rise of her belly and the juncture of her thighs, then all the way down her smoothly muscled legs to her purple toenails. He said quietly, “I knew you’d be beautiful…but not this beautiful.”


  That he should call her beautiful filled Marnie with pride. With a touch of mischief, she teased, “Does one thing really lead to another? Then it’s your turn,” and reached for the catch on the waistband of his trousers. Moments later, he, too, was naked, all his male tautness of muscle and tendon exposed to her. She said, “Lie back a minute, Cal.”

  He obeyed her without question. Half-sitting, she let her hands wander his body with a sensuality she wouldn’t have known she possessed: through the dark pelt of hair on his chest, around his rib cage, across the jut of his pelvic bones and, finally, to his arousal. As she reached it, his face contorted. “Marnie, it’s been so long, I can’t…”

  Swiftly, she lay beside him, lifting his hand to her breast, briefly closing her eyes in wonderment as he circled her nipple, then lowered his mouth to the ivory rise of her flesh. Her whole body was aching with a primitive hunger, a single surge of need for Cal to fill her and empty within her. She opened her thighs to gather him in and heard him say in the same hoarse voice, “There’s no rush. We’ve got all night.”

  She didn’t want him controlling his own hunger for her sake; she already knew he was a man who’d repressed his nature for too long. She said with sudden urgency, “Cal, you don’t have to play it safe with me. Ever.”

  For a moment, he dropped his forehead to rest on her breasts; she could hear his uneven breathing. She stroked his black hair, whispering, “Are you all right?” and thought how odd it was that she, who felt almost virginal, should be reassuring Cal, who’d been married for so long.

  When he looked up, his slate blue eyes were open to her in a way that was new. “You have this capacity to shake my soul,” he muttered, and drew her hard against the lean length of his frame. “You don’t know how often I’ve craved to hold you like this, Marnie, how I’ve dreamed of you naked and open and willing.”

  So was this love? she wondered. A man exposing himself body and soul to a woman who only wanted him to be himself? Because the true Cal, the real Cal, was the man who was her mate?

  She didn’t know the answers to her questions. “I’m so happy to be here with you,” she said, her eyes shining like open pools where the currents were deep and sure of themselves. Then Cal spread her hair on the pillow, his face intent, and lowered his head to kiss her again, all the while moving his body over hers until she writhed with need. As he took her breast in his mouth again, she arched against him, frantic for fulfillment. “Please,” she said jaggedly, “please, Cal…”

  Only then did he touch her where her soft petals of flesh were warm and wet, waiting for him. She shuddered to his probing, panting as though she’d run the length of the beach; Cal swiftly dealt with one of the foil envelopes. And then, at last, Marnie felt him thrust within her, joined to her in the most intimate of ways. She opened her eyes, wrapping her arms around him, moving her hips instinctually as she spiraled into the eddies of a river she’d never traveled, drowning in the whiteness of foam.

  She said his name, once, twice, and felt his inner throbbing join her own, heard his voice cry out, husky with pain and deep pleasure as he emptied within her. I love you, she thought. The way I’m feeling must be love. What else could be so overwhelming and complete?

  He collapsed on top of her, his chest heaving, his breath wafting over her bare shoulder. “Darling Marnie,” he whispered. “You feel so good, so right to me, I never want to let you go.”

  “Then don’t,” she murmured, rubbing her palms gently across the broad expanse of his back. He held her close, the hard pounding of his heart gradually slowing, her own blood quietening in her veins. Just like a waterfall loses itself in a deep pool, thought Marnie, and said, “I’m glad I’ve never made love with anyone but Terry…that I waited for you.” She wrinkled her nose. “I must’ve known about you somehow.”

  “I must’ve been doing something right to deserve you,” Cal said, scattering little kisses all over her face before burying his face in her hair. “You smell so nice,” he mumbled.

  “Not as nice as you,” she said with such artless enthusiasm that laughter quivered in his chest.

  “So when, dearest Marnie, did you decide you didn’t want Pierrot doing the cooking?”

  “Last night. And when I woke up this morning, I knew I was right. It was only when you arrived that I got scared.” She ran her fingers along his forearm, admiring the way ligament, muscle and bone were so smoothly interwoven, loving the warmth of his skin. So close. So much hers. As she nuzzled her face into his shoulder, she added, “I bet I could pick you out from a dozen men with my eyes closed.”

  “After what we just did, you’re talking about eleven other men?” he complained, brushing his palm lightly over her nipple. “I can see I’ll have to prove I’ve got more to offer than the rest of them.”

  “Besides,” she added determinedly, “the date we’d planned sounded altogether too predictable—Cal, what are you doing to me?”

  “Counteracting, I trust, any tendency to boredom.”

  “You’re doing a fantastic job.”

  “Good.” As he took the tip of her breast in his mouth with exquisite gentleness, he must have felt her shiver in response. Taking his time, savoring each inch of her, Cal slid lower on her body, his hair black as night against the pallor of her skin. Then he eased her thighs apart. Marnie gave a startled moan of pleasure as he found all her sensitivities, playing with her until she was arched beneath him and the inexorable rhythms made her cry out his name in a broken voice she scarcely recognized as her own.

  As he raised his head, she drew him to her, lost in a sensual haze of surrender. “I never knew it could be like that,” she murmured, knowing she was on the verge of tears. “So sweet… Hold me, Cal, please.”

  “Don’t cry, sweetheart. I only want you to be happy.”

  “I couldn’t be any happier,” Marnie said with obvious sincerity, plunking her head down on his shoulder with a sigh of fulfillment. “I’m adding another word to my vocabulary,” she went on drowsily. “Besides erotic, I mean. Intimacy. Being in bed with you like this has got to be the most intimate thing I’ve ever done in my entire life.”

  She’d been up late the night before and early this morning; her lashes drifted to her cheeks and her breathing deepened. So she missed the look on Cal’s face, a look of mingled amusement, satiation, happiness and panic.

  When Marnie awoke, she wondered for a moment if she was dreaming. She was in bed, her own bed, Cal’s hands molding her curves to the hard planes of his chest; he was caressing the fullness of her breasts, smiling at her with a tenderness that melted her heart within her. Her whole body ached with desire; more than anything else in the world she wanted to give as much pleasure to Cal as he’d already given her.

  Shyly at first, then with increasing boldness, Marnie took the initiative, discovering what pleased him, with secret delight watching the changing expressions on his face as she experimented in a freedom that was beyond any fantasies she could possibly have conceived. The end result was, of course, entirely predictable: a storm of passion that caught both of them in its coils and tossed them, breathless, back on the bed.

  “Oh my goodness,” Marnie gasped, and gave him a dazzled smile.

  With sudden passionate intensity, Cal said, “You free me, Marnie. You let me be myself.”

  Again, tears blurred her vision. “I’m glad,” she whispered, touched to the core. “I’m so glad.”

  “I knew from the first moment we met that I wanted to make love to you, but I never thought it could be as—hell, I don’t even know what words to use.”

  “Maybe because there aren’t any,” she said with an air of discovery. “Maybe there are times our bodies have to speak for us.”

  “I have the feeling you’ve just said something very profound,” Cal said, not entirely joking.

  “I aim to please.” Marnie put her arms around him with a sigh of contentment. “This is a lot better than Pierrot’s.”

  “That’s the understatement of t
he year,” Cal murmured, resting his cheek on her arm and closing his eyes. Within moments, he was fast asleep.

  His face in repose fascinated her: the small cleft in his chin, the bump on his nose, the white scar over his eye—all so well known to her. Could she have fallen in love with Cal so quickly and so completely?

  In rock climbing, the whole point was not to fall, or if you did, to do so safely. Was she safe to love Cal? Or was it too late to even worry about it?

  He’d treated her with generosity, sensitivity and undoubted tenderness; but he’d never mentioned the word love.

  And what about Kit? Kit certainly didn’t love her.

  Kit and Cal came as a unit.

  Don’t do this, Marnie, she told herself. Cal’s here with you now, and that’s what counts. You’re the one who doesn’t want your life to be too predictable. So quit worrying and enjoy what you’ve got.

  She ran her fingers lightly down the side of his face and sank down beside him, warmed by his body, knowing this was where she belonged.

  CHAPTER TWELVE

  CAL didn’t sleep for long. When he opened his eyes, he said with that gleam of laughter that Marnie loved, “So I wasn’t dreaming….” and followed the dip of her waist with one hand, his other going to her breast. She had, against her thigh, all the evidence she needed that he was quite ready to make love with her all over again.

  Blushing, she said, “I’m hungry. Why didn’t any of the gothic novels I used to read have a heroine whose stomach growled when the hero kissed her?”

  “Is that a hint?” Cal said, and kissed her with entrancing thoroughness.

  “Lemon meringue pie, Cal,” she said, her eyes dancing.

  “Christine’s trout.”

  “I’m not sure I’ve got the energy to put dinner on the table.”

  “So I’ve worn you out. Did you like it, Marnie?”

  “Oh, yes,” she said fervently, and watched his face break into laughter and what was surely happiness as well.