Truly Married

by Phyllis Halldorson

  Consequently she was terrified, bewildered and so achingly vulnerable. He’d be a world-class bastard if he took advantage of her temporary susceptibility to appease his own burning need.

  The telephone started to ring just as Fergus shut the door, and he answered it while Sharon went into the bedroom to hang up the lightweight coat she’d worn as protection against the chilly spring-night breeze. He was still talking when she came back, and she could tell from his end of the conversation that it was a business call.

  Not wanting just to stand there and listen, she began pacing slowly around the room, until she found herself in front of the locked bar cabinet. The key was in the lock, and she opened it and rummaged through the contents until she found a bottle of Perrier and a can of beer.

  She caught Fergus’s eye and held up the beer in a questioning gesture. He smiled and nodded, and she opened both containers and poured them into two glasses from the cupboard over the cabinet, then opened a package of miniature pretzels and emptied them into a glass bowl.

  “I’m sorry,” Fergus said as he hung up the phone and joined her. “I left Chicago so suddenly in the middle of the night that I didn’t have time to tie up any of the loose ends at the office.”

  He picked up his glass and the pretzels and strode over to the sofa, followed by Sharon. “I’m afraid I’m going to have to start wearing my beeper so I can be contacted more easily.”

  They sat down and he put the bowl of pretzels on the coffee table.

  Sharon felt a blast of guilt. She’d been so glad to see him and so relieved to have him there, taking over her defense, that it hadn’t occurred to her what a huge sacrifice he was making to drop everything the way he had and come to her rescue. How could she have been so thoughtless?

  “I’m sorry,” she said. “I hate it that I’ve disrupted your work so badly. If you need to go back to Chicago please don’t feel compelled to stay here. I’m sure Ray can carry on, now that you’ve taken care of all the preliminaries—”

  “Stop right there,” Fergus said. “Are you trying to tell me you’d prefer to have Ray Quinlan defend you instead of me?”

  “No!” She was so startled that she practically shouted the denial at him. “That’s not what I mean. I just don’t want to be a burden—”

  “Burden, hell!” he roared as he slammed his glass down on the coffee table, spilling part of the beer as he jumped to his feet. “Goddammit, Sharon, will you stop being so sickeningly self-sacrificing and face a few hard truths?”

  “Self-sacrificing? Me?” Her volume matched his as she also put her glass down and stood. “Aren’t you being a tad overconfident? What makes you think you’re the only lawyer on earth who can convince a jury I’m not guilty?”

  He glared at her. “I don’t think I am, I know I am. I’m the only one who would put up with your stubborn, egotistical insistence that you’re invincible and don’t need or even want help from anybody.”

  “Stubborn! Egotistical!” Her voice rose a decibel with each word. “Look who’s talking. I’ve never known a more stubborn, egotistical man than you.”

  “Then I’d say you’ve been damn lucky,” he said grimly. “I’ll be happy to introduce you to a few, but don’t count on one of them to defend you. They’re not burdened with the same motive I am.”

  “Oh.” Her tone was sarcastic. “And just what motive are you saddled with? It sure can’t be the size of the fee you’ll get.”

  “No, it’s not the fee,” he said, his voice suddenly flat and back to a normal volume. “It’s a much more compelling and painful obsession than that. I’m in love with you.”

  For once Sharon was speechless. It was as if she’d had the breath knocked out of her, and for a moment she found herself struggling just to breathe as she watched Fergus put his fingers to his temples and turn away from her.

  “That... That’s a low blow, Fergus,” she finally stammered. “I truly didn’t expect you to lie to me. Especially not about...about that.”

  “I’m not lying,” he said dully. “I told you the same thing five years ago when you confronted me about Elaine. You wouldn’t believe me then so there’s no reason to think you will now, but it’s true.”

  She felt a faint flicker of hope, but ruthlessly pushed it away. “If you’d loved me then you wouldn’t have gotten involved with another woman.” Her tone was as lifeless as his.

  He turned around to face her, and she saw anguish in his tight-lipped expression. “I didn’t get ‘involved’ with Elaine in the way you mean until after you and I were divorced, but you wouldn’t believe that, either. You just closed your mind and refused to listen to anything I tried to tell you.”

  “But...but you married her.”

  He nodded wearily. “Yes, I married her.” Again he put his fingers to his temples. “Look, why don’t we call it a night? It’s been a long day, and I have a pounding headache.”

  A wave of compassion flooded her as she remembered that during their marriage he’d been prone to headaches when under an inordinate amount of stress. In her eagerness to relieve his suffering she’d borrowed a book on massage therapy from the college library and had worked out a way of manipulating the muscles of his neck, shoulders and back that had effectively relaxed him and alleviated the discomfort.

  Now she was the cause of his stress, and she had an irresistible urge to take away his pain. Without thinking past that urge, she got up and walked over to stand in front of him. “Since I’m probably the cause of your headache, will you let me try to relieve it?” she asked softly. “I think I remember how.”

  With a muffled groan he put his arms around her and pulled her so close that she could feel the tension in him as she slid her arms around his neck. “I’d be eternally grateful to you if you would,” he murmured in her ear, “but I have to tell you that stroking me with those soft little hands is definitely not the way to relax me.”

  She rubbed her cheek against his. “Would you rather I didn’t?”

  “Oh, please don’t back out now.” It sounded very much like a plea. “I’ll muddle through and enjoy every minute of it.”

  So would she, but that wasn’t necessarily good. She leaned back a little in his arms and started to unknot his tie. “Would you like to take off your shirt?”

  A wicked little grin lit his face. “Why don’t you do it for me?”

  The very thought sent a wave of heat coursing through her. It was easy to see that she’d made a serious mistake by getting herself into this, but she couldn’t back out now. Not when he was hurting and she could bring him relief.

  “I—I think you’d better do it,” she stammered. “It’s been years since I undressed a man.”

  Oh damn! That wasn’t what she’d intended to say. Now he’d know there hadn’t been any other men in her life since their divorce. He’d either think she couldn’t attract another man or he’d know that she’d been pining for him all this time.

  She wasn’t prepared for the look of contrition—and could it be relief?—that altered his expression as his arms once more tightened around her.

  “Oh, Sharon.” It was clearly a moan of despair. “You’re right. I don’t deserve your forgiveness. I didn’t have the good sense to hold on to you when I had you, but I loved you then and I never stopped.”

  She didn’t know what to say. How to react. She wanted so much to believe him, but when she’d found him and Elaine Odbert in each other’s arms he’d admitted that he cared for the other woman.

  She knew with the knowledge of hindsight that if she’d been older and less idealistic she would have fought to keep her marriage intact. But she hadn’t, and he’d married Elaine and apparently been happy with her until she’d died so suddenly.

  Now he was a lonely widower and it would be easy to convince himself that he was still in love with the ex-wife he’d felt guilty about all those years. It was a good way to assuage his guilt and alleviate his loneliness.

  Well, that was nice for him, but she hadn’t been
willing to be second best with him five years ago, and she still wasn’t now.

  But how could she hold on to the sensible resolution of her mind, and resist the overwhelming temptation of her psyche to forget the past and give him her heart, her body and everything else he might want from her?

  Chapter Seven

  Sharon and Fergus just stood there holding each other and savoring the delicious intimacy as the seconds ticked into minutes, until Sharon finally gathered enough self-discipline to again lean back in his embrace.

  “Why don’t you take off your shirt while I pull down the wall bed?” she asked, changing the subject without comment on his last remarks. “Or better yet, undress and put on the bottoms of your pajamas. Then you won’t have to get up again after you’re all relaxed.”

  Fergus gave her one last hug, then released her, but there was a suspicious glint in his eyes. “Now you’ve hurt my feelings,” he said morosely, but his mouth twitched into a tiny smile. “How could you have forgotten that I don’t wear pajamas?”

  She felt a dizzying rush of blood to her head and knew that her face must be red with embarrassment. How could she, indeed?

  Actually, she hadn’t. How many hundreds of nights since their divorce had she lain awake in her cold and lonely bed, remembering his powerful, naked body entwined with hers, also nude, as she’d fallen asleep? But as usual with Fergus, she’d let her mouth run off before she’d gotten her brain in gear.

  Her teeth worried her lower lip. “That...that was a long time ago, and it’s not something I needed or wanted to remember.”

  She hated the waspish tone of her voice, and made a determined effort to banish it when she continued. “Take off everything but your slacks. Then you can pull down the bed while I get into something more comfortable.”

  She bolted for the bedroom and closed the door before he could reply.

  Sharon hurriedly undressed, then pulled on a long, flowing, India-print caftan in bright shades of orange, green and brown. It buttoned at the neck and had wide sleeves with gathers at the high bodice. She’d chosen to bring it instead of a robe because she thought it wouldn’t have the same sexual connotation that nightclothes did, but now, as she glanced at herself in the mirror, she wasn’t so sure.

  If she had a candle holder with a lit candle in one hand and a floppy rag doll clutched in the other arm, she’d look like those pictures of a Victorian maiden on her way to bed.

  Oh well, it was too late to worry about that now. She didn’t have anything else to put on unless she wanted to get dressed again, and she didn’t.

  At the door to the living room she hesitated, then rapped. “Fergus. Are you decent?”

  He answered with one terse word, “Yes,” and she knew he was again displeased about something.

  She opened the door and walked into the room, to find him sitting on the side of the bed, glaring at her. He was bare to below the waist, and it was evident the years hadn’t aged that magnificent body of his at all. He was still tanned and muscular, with a heavy sprinkling of brown hair on his chest.

  He’d also removed his shoes and socks, and she’d never before realized how erotic bare feet could be as she was suddenly seized with a desire to feel them rubbing slowly up and down her calves. She gulped and blinked in an effort to erase such unsettling images, and noticed that his glare had turned into a stare as he watched her.

  “You look like Little Bo Peep,” he said in a strangled tone, then cleared his throat and changed the subject. “What was that crack about am I decent? Dammit, Sharon, I wish you’d stop acting like Little Red Riding Hood fending off the Big Bad Wolf. My God, you even dress like a nursery rhyme.”

  He stood up and turned away from her. “We were married for three years, and you never worried about whether I was ‘decently’ clothed when we were together in our apartment. You’ve seen me nude more times than you can count, so why are you now acting like a naive virgin who’s likely to swoon at the sight of a man in the buff?”

  He ran his fingers through his hair in a gesture of frustration. “Are you afraid of me? Have I ever given you cause to be?”

  Once more she’d been robbed of speech. Shock and anger warred for dominance in her confused mind, and anger was rapidly winning the battle.

  What was the matter with him? He wasn’t making sense. He apparently expected her to behave to act like the lovestruck young wife she used to be, but that was a long time ago. She was a different woman now and it was about time he understood that.

  “I don’t know what you expect of me, Fergus,” she said, struggling to keep her tone calm and controlled, “but I’ll tell you what you’re going to get. When you and I were living together we were married. That didn’t stop you from being attracted to another woman, but I took the commitment seriously.”

  He winced and held up his hand to stop her, but she hurried on. “Don’t interrupt—just listen. You asked me earlier if I’ve been involved with other men since our divorce. The answer is no. I date fairly often, but I don’t sleep around, and I’m not going to make an exception of you. You lost your husbandly privileges the night I caught you kissing Elaine, and now you’re no different than any other man.

  “If I act like a virgin it’s because, except for you, I am. I’m also not a tease. I’m sorry if my high standards offend you, but I don’t parade around in front of men in skimpy, seductive clothes, and I don’t allow men to undress in my presence.”

  Sharon knew that now wasn’t the time for this discussion, but as her agitation rose so did her need to speak her mind.

  She began pacing around the room. “You asked if I’m afraid of you. You’re damn right I am, and yes, you have given me good reason to be.”

  Again he tried to speak and was cut off. “Five years ago you walked out on me and shattered my whole world—”

  “Sharon, I did not walk out on you!” This time he didn’t give her a chance to shush him. “I never intended to leave you. I didn’t want a divorce—you were the one who insisted on it.” His voice was ragged with frustration, and he bowed his head in his hands and rubbed his temples with his thumbs.

  The headache. In her anger she’d forgotten about his headache and her promise to try to relieve it with massage. Instead, she was making it worse.

  The rage drained out of her, and she hurried across the room to where he sat on the side of the bed. Hunkering down in front of him, she put her hands on his shoulders and felt the tightly drawn muscles. “We’ve been over all this before. There’s no point in rehashing it,” she said softly as she removed the pillow. “Lie down on your stomach. Do you have medication?”

  He raised his head and looked at her. His face was white and his eyes reflected his torment. “Yes, in my shaving kit, but let’s try the massage first.”

  He cupped her cheeks with his palms and lifted her face to look at her. “Sharon, I’m sorry,” he said brokenly.

  She reached out and stroked his forehead. “I’m sorry, too. I didn’t mean to let you suffer while I railed at you for things neither of us can do anything about now.”

  Their gazes met, and the magnetism between them was so strong that she knew she’d wind up in his arms again if she didn’t move—fast!

  She practically jumped to her feet and turned away from him. “Lie down,” she instructed again. “I’ll be right back.”

  When she returned from the bathroom, where she’d picked up the sample bottle of lotion the hotel had provided, Fergus had pulled back the covers and was stretched out on the bed on his stomach, with his arms to his sides and his face turned toward her. His back was as muscular as his chest, and all that bare flesh was tempting almost beyond resisting.

  She remembered how she used to kiss and lick her way up from the indentation at the base of his spine to his shoulders, and the funny little purring noises that had escaped from deep in his throat. She’d loved the feel of his firm flesh under her hands, and the way his muscles had twitched when her stroking became more intimate.

&
nbsp; Enough of that! she admonished herself silently, and pulled the sheet and blanket up to his waist, then sat down beside him.

  “Are you warm enough?” she asked as she squeezed some of the lotion that she’d warmed under the hot water onto his shoulders. “If you’re chilly I can turn up the heat.”

  She put her hands in the pools of lotion and began the massage.

  He sighed contentedly. “Honey, there’s no way I could get a chill with you sitting close and doing such erotic things to me.”

  His seductive words and tone sent a liquid warmth to her nether region, and her fingers involuntarily dug into him. “I...I am not doing erotic things to you,” she protested.

  “Oh, no?” She heard the exaggerated leer in his voice. “Would you like me to turn over and show you?”

  That was exactly the type of thing he used to say to her, and in spite of her good intentions, she choked with laughter. “Darn it, Fergus,” she said, intending to sound stern but giggling, instead. “How can I stay mad at you when you say outrageous things like that?”

  “I don’t want you to be mad at me.” This time his tone was serious. “And it’s not outrageous. I’m willing to prove it.”

  She’d take his word, but even so it didn’t mean anything special. Any reasonably pretty woman could arouse a half-naked man just by stroking him, and Fergus was no exception.

  She decided it was time to change the subject. “I won’t be able to help you get rid of that headache if you won’t be quiet and relax. Your muscles are tied in knots.”

  “I feel better already,” he murmured, and with a few deep breaths managed to release some of the tension in his body.

  For some time after that they didn’t speak. Sharon worked to unknot his muscles as the most effective moves came back to her, and he gradually loosened up as she stroked and kneaded his tortured sinews and nerves.

  After half an hour Sharon’s shoulders and hands were screaming for relief from the unaccustomed pressure she was putting on them. Besides, she was almost sure Fergus was asleep. He was totally relaxed and his breathing was deep and regular.