Reaching out his hand, he took hers, and they walked into the bathroom, where Fergus adjusted the water to a pleasingly warm setting before they stepped into the stall. He picked up the bar of soap, then put his arms around her waist and pulled her back so her derriere settled into his groin, eliciting a groan of pleasure he couldn’t suppress.
The water sprayed over them in a pulsating rhythm as he lathered the soap into a mass of suds, then rubbed them over her breasts, slowly, with circular motions, paying special attention to her firm, erect nipples, which were ripe for suckling.
She leaned her head back against his shoulder and made little panting sounds as he soaped his hands again and lowered them to her belly. It was flat and firm, and as he kneaded it her hips undulated against his already overheated manhood, making him gasp and fight to restrain his own desperate need.
Unable to wait longer, he slipped his hands downward and cupped her mound of soft brown curls. His finger found the crevice it was seeking, then her core, and he felt her muscles tighten and convulse just before he lost his tenuous control. They both cried out and were racked by shudders of exhilaration.
Sharon came back to earth slowly, reluctantly, as the water continued to pour over them. She’d never had a lover other than Fergus. She’d never wanted anyone else, but even when she was the maddest at him, when she thought of him as a cheat, a liar, an adulterer, she still missed their loving.
Over the years she’d come to understand that he was none of those things, just a confused man who’d found out, too late, that he didn’t love her. Even so, she was a highly sensual woman, and her years of self-imposed celibacy had been frustrating and lonely. Several times she’d vowed to herself that she’d break that cycle and sleep with some of the men who took her out. A woman didn’t need to be married or engaged to have sex anymore.
But she was never able to do it. Even though she’d longed for that joyous release, she’d never found another man who appealed to her enough to succumb. It was no wonder she’d burst into flame when Fergus had kissed her...or had she kissed him first? It didn’t matter—the results would have been the same either way—and she wasn’t ready yet to deal with the guilt that she knew would follow.
Later she would, but not until after that long, lazy, incredibly romantic lovemaking on her Victorian-style brass bed that he’d promised her.
She turned in his arms and lifted her face for his kiss. He obliged and their mouths clung. The passion was banked, but in its place was a fresh sweetness that was even more satisfying. Like a vow of eternal love, and a preview of renewed ardor.
“You promised me a bed,” she whispered against his ear.
He caressed her bottom. “I know, but it took too long to get there. I couldn’t wait.”
She nibbled on his lobe. “Neither could I, but if we hurry maybe we can make it this time.”
He groaned. “Sweetheart, I hate to tell you this, but I’m not as young as I used to be. I’m going to need a little while to, uh, shall we say, replenish my energy?”
She indulged in a disbelieving snort. “Really,” she said, “I hadn’t noticed any problem.”
She reached between them and captured him in her hand. Almost immediately she felt the familiar stirring of muscles as he started to harden.
He chuckled and kissed her again as his rod grew upright and ready. “You little tease. You could arouse a marble statue.”
“You’re the only one I want to arouse,” she murmured against the side of his mouth. “I’ve never wanted any other man but you.”
Fergus was both deeply ashamed and outrageously pleased. Ashamed that he’d hurt her so badly she couldn’t respond to any other man after their divorce, and pleased that she couldn’t; that he was still the only man she’d given herself to.
That was inexcusably selfish of him, but he couldn’t help it. What he was determined to do, though, was treat her with the loving respect she deserved and practice a little restraint. She’d been profoundly shocked when she’d finally been forced to face the unthinkable in that courtroom—that she was seriously in danger of going to prison for a crime she hadn’t committed.
He knew that up to now it had been like a bad dream for her, or a vicious game that had to be played out to the end. In spite of his efforts to convince her to take the charge seriously he’d sensed that she hadn’t really believed it would happen, but today the outcome of the hearing had jolted her out of her delusion. She could no longer hide behind the knowledge of her innocence. Now they had to convince a judge and jury that there had been a horrendous mistake.
It was no wonder she’d been dazed and depressed by the decision to bind her over for trial. He didn’t need a psychiatrist to tell him she’d turned to him now to distract her and help her bear the unbearable, even though it meant lowering the barriers she’d raised between them and unleashing the most powerful distraction of all, unrestrained sex.
He was no saint. He sure as hell wasn’t going to say no to her, but neither was he going to ravish her when she was emotionally incapable of making a rational decision about whether or not she wanted him to.
Gently he disengaged himself from her. “If we don’t get out of here we’re going to be waterlogged,” he said, and turned off the shower.
He opened the stall door and stepped out, then extended his hand to help her. There were large thick bath towels hanging on the metal rods affixed to the walls, and he took one and wrapped it around her, then took another to dry her hair. When they were both dried off except for damp hair, they hung their towels back up and walked into the bedroom, where they climbed into bed and cuddled up between the sheets.
Passion had been overwhelmed by exhaustion and they slept in each other’s arms.
* * *
The insistent ring of the telephone woke Sharon up, and without opening her eyes, she rolled to her side and reached for it on the nightstand. It was Anna. She sounded hurried and anxious.
“Sharon, sorry I couldn’t check in with you earlier, but I’ve been showing a client farms out in the boonies all day and just got back to the office. How did it go in court this morning?”
Sharon told her, and they talked about it for a few minutes until Anna was interrupted. When she got back to Sharon she sounded disgruntled. “Damn! A distinguished-looking gentleman wearing a fifteen-hundred-dollar suit and driving a Rolls, no less, just wandered in and asked to be shown the La Rochefoucauld estate. Look, Sharon, are you all right? Is Fergus there with you? I can come home if you need me.”
Sharon glanced over her shoulder and saw Fergus lying beside her, watching. She smiled at him and he smiled back and winked. “I’m fine,” she said, returning to the conversation. “Fergus is here, and I won’t hear of you maybe losing out on the sale of a multimillion-dollar estate just to come home and hold my hand. Take all the time you need.”
Anna hesitated. “Are you sure? It’s dinnertime now. I may not be back till the wee hours of the morning. It’s a long way out there.”
Sharon felt a rush of affection for this woman who had consistently been such a true and caring friend. “I can’t tell you how much I appreciate your concern, Anna,” she said, and hoped her tone would relay the depth of feeling that was impossible to put into words, “but really, I’m okay. Fergus will stay with me. Now, for heaven’s sake, go make a big fat commission.”
They talked for another minute or two, then Sharon put down the phone and turned to Fergus. He welcomed her with open arms and she snuggled against his warm, firm body. It was so much like old times that she could almost forget the five years they’d been apart. Almost, but not quite.
She could feel the hardening of him that matched the quickening of her own body, and she wasn’t going to resist it. Today she needed him, totally and without restraint. She’d worry about the consequences tomorrow.
He rubbed his palms in long, slow strokes down her back and her buttocks, awakening delightful sensations all through her.
“I gather Anna won’t be home for a whi
le?”
“No, she has a client who wants a tour of an obscenely expensive estate downriver about fifty miles. What time is it?”
Fergus held up one arm and looked at his watch. “It’s almost six-thirty. Are you hungry?”
She grinned. “Yeah, but not for food.”
He nuzzled her neck. “I’ve no intention of letting you starve,” he murmured, and stroked her breast.
Eager to give him the same pleasure he was giving her, she turned her head and took his earlobe in her mouth to toy with while she kneaded his back and shoulders. His hand inched with tantalizing slowness down to her groin and stopped while his fingers made forays close to, but not touching, her heat. She writhed under his touch as she worried his lobe with her teeth, then sucked gently, causing his fingers to clench and unclench on her sensitized flesh.
For a long time she was lost in a haze of erotic stimulation as they leisurely touched, and licked, and nibbled, each intent on pleasuring the other, until their rhythm escalated, their breathing came in short gasps and their nerve ends screamed for release.
When it happened the eruption sent them soaring into a vast universe where time stood still and nothing mattered but the fiery fusion of their bodies and their souls.
* * *
By the time Sharon drifted slowly back from her journey to euphoria enough to open her eyes and rejoin the real world the sun was setting and she realized she was hungry. No, not just hungry, famished!
She was still wrapped in Fergus’s embrace, and could feel his heartbeat against her chest and his breath against her cheek. She kissed his shoulder, then raised her head to look at him. “Tell me again about how you’re too old to make love to me three times in a row,” she teased.
He grinned and patted her on her bare bottom. “I suspect I could keep it up all night, uh, so to speak,” he amended with a chuckle, “so unless that’s what you want I advise you to be careful about how and where you touch me.”
“Oh, you mean like here...or here...?” She caressed a couple of highly responsive areas and felt his muscles clench as his arms tightened around her.
“Sharon,” he groaned. “I can’t think of a happier way to die, but I’m not ready to go yet. Besides, I need nourishment to replenish my energy. We haven’t eaten all day. Aren’t you hungry?”
“Starved,” she answered.
“Do you want to go out or eat here?”
“I want to stay here,” she said quickly. “I feel safe here. I don’t ever want to leave home again.”
Fergus sobered. “You are safe here, love, but don’t ever talk about giving up. We’re going to fight this thing, and we’re going to win. Always believe that.”
Sharon knew he was right. Giving in to despair could only defeat her, and she wasn’t a quitter.
She lifted her chin and brushed his lips with her own. “I will,” she vowed. “I do. How could I lose when I have you to defend me? But I still want to eat in. There’re lots of frozen dinners in the freezer. All we have to do is stick a couple of them in the microwave for a few minutes.”
They dressed in comfortable jeans and pullover shirts, but left their feet bare. There was something earthy and sensual about the feel of thick carpet under bare soles.
In the kitchen they each chose a favorite frozen dinner to heat up and made a pot of coffee. They ate hungrily and finished off with bowls of ice cream topped with chocolate syrup. Fergus finished the last spoonful and leaned back in his chair with a sigh.
“You heat up a great dinner, Mrs. Lachlan—uh, I mean Ms. Sawyer,” he said, correcting himself sheepishly. “Obviously that was a Freudian slip. Wishful thinking.”
Sharon had noticed it at the same time he did, and it shook her all the way to her toes. For three years she’d loved being Mrs. Fergus Lachlan, but once she’d filed for divorce she’d never used that name again.
“I’ll accept your apology, but—”
“It wasn’t an apology,” he said firmly, breaking into her sentence.
She gritted her teeth and started again. “I’ll accept your apology,” she repeated, “but please don’t call me that. I don’t ever again want to be known as some man’s property. If I should remarry I’ll keep my own name.”
She couldn’t miss the cringe of pain her words caused him, and she was immediately ashamed of herself. Dear God, she was turning into a sharp-tongued harpy.
Reaching out, she put her hand over his on the table. “I’m sorry, Fergus, and that is an apology.” Her voice quivered with regret. “I’m afraid that subconsciously I’m harboring more bitterness than I realized. It just pops out sometimes. I don’t deliberately set out to hurt you, and when I do anyway I hurt myself, as well. I promise to keep a tighter rein on it.”
He turned his hand over and clasped hers. “No, don’t do that, Sharon. Bitterness and anger have to have an outlet. Otherwise they fester and grow ugly. If you want to rail at me, then go ahead. Get it all out in the open so we can deal with it.”
She bit back a sob. How could she want to hate him, when he was so sweet? How could she keep from loving him, when he was so loving, so self-sacrificing toward her? He’d left a mountain of high-fee cases in Chicago to come here and defend her free, and all she could do was bring up the past and make him feel guilty.
“I...I don’t want to quarrel with you,” she assured him. “Losing Elaine the way you did was more punishment than I would ever have wished on you. You don’t need my snide remarks.”
He squeezed her hand. “I need anything you want to give me,” he said softly, then straightened. “I also need to talk to you. Why don’t we go into the living room where we can be comfortable.”
“Okay,” she said, anxiously wondering what he wanted to talk about. “Just let me stack the dishes in the dishwasher first.”
A few minutes later they seated themselves on the sofa in the living room, and Fergus got right to the point.
“Sharon, you haven’t said anything, but I’m sure you’re aware that I wasn’t using condoms when we made love. That was reckless and inexcusable, but I honest to God didn’t think of it. I wasn’t thinking period. Just feeling.”
Sharon nodded. He was right; she had been aware. But at the time it hadn’t mattered to her. “Fergus, I—”
“No, let me finish,” he interrupted. “If you’re not on the pill, which seems likely since you say you haven’t had a lover, then you were completely unprotected.”
Again she tried to break in, and again he stopped her. “I swear that it was never my intention to deliberately get you pregnant so you’d feel you had to come back to me. I want you more than I’ve ever wanted anything, but not that way.”
This time she reached over and put her finger to his lips before he could continue. “Will you please shut up and let me say something?” she asked softly. “You’re right, I’m not on the pill....”
He groaned, but she went on. “But the fact that I wasn’t protected was as much my fault as yours. The first time I didn’t think of it, either, and the second time there was no need, but the last time I was aware of it before we actually, uh, coupled, only by then I was too involved to stop.”
His anguished expression tore at her heart.
“Honey, I—”
Again she shushed him. “Now be quiet and listen. It’s unlikely that I’ll get pregnant. This should be a safe time of the month. I’ll know for sure in just a couple of days. If I’m not, then there’s nothing to worry about, and if I am, well, we’ll have plenty of time to deal with it then.”
He looked slightly relieved, but Sharon felt a rush of tenderness at the thought of bearing Fergus’s baby. While they’d been married she’d been in college and he’d been busy establishing his career as a lawyer, so they’d postponed starting a family. With the blind confidence of youth, they’d been so sure that the years ahead of them would be happy and successful, that they’d stay married for the rest of their lives and that they’d live forever.
Only it hadn’t work
ed out that way, and in the years since their divorce she’d frequently wished she’d had Fergus’s child. A small replica of him to love, and raise, and fill her lonely hours. It had been a lovely dream, but in less fanciful times she was glad they hadn’t had children to be put through the torment of a broken family.
As for now, she didn’t dare dwell on even the remote possibility that she and Fergus might have conceived a small son or daughter during this wild and wonderful afternoon.
Chapter Eleven
Sharon shivered and struggled to put the thought of babies and prison out of her mind. The only way she could do that was to change the subject.
Before Fergus could comment further on their predicament she said the first thing that came to mind. “Were you and Elaine happy together, Fergus?”
She mentally cringed at her insensitivity. That was strictly none of her business, but he’d said they should discuss her continued animosity toward him. She didn’t want to quarrel with him; she just wanted to try to understand why he kept insisting that he still loved her, when he’d left her for another woman.
Well, actually, she’d left him, but it was because he’d all but admitted that he was in love with Elaine.
“Happy?” he said hesitantly, but with no apparent resentment. “Happy is a subjective word. It means different things to different people. I’d say we were reasonably happy, but there was always a shadow between us, your shadow, dimming that happiness.”
Sharon blinked. “Are you saying that was my fault?” Her tone betrayed both her surprise and her chagrin.
Fergus shook his head. “No, it was mine. I couldn’t stop loving you.”
Sharon wanted to scream at him. Throw something. Instead she jumped to her feet. “Dammit, Fergus, will you stop saying that! It’s insulting that you’d think I’d believe such a blatant lie. Why are you doing this? What in God’s name do you want of me?”
He sighed and dropped his head in his hands, and her exasperation evaporated. He was genuinely tormented—she was sure of it. He wasn’t a good enough actor to be so convincing, so why didn’t he just admit that he’d never really loved her?
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