Bittersweet Passion

by Peggy Webb

She pushed herself away from the door and tugged him toward the spare bedroom.

  “So far, so good. Just keep moving those legs, Daniel. A few more steps, and we’ll be there.”

  He fell heavily onto the bed, taking her with him. She was so tired she thought about just lying there, resting her head on his chest and closing her eyes and simply falling asleep.

  Of course, there were a few glitches in that plan, not the least of which was his obvious arousal. She’d never be able to shut her eyes, scrunched up next to that.

  “Now,” she said, trying to sound all business and failing. “I’m going to take off your shoes and tuck some covers around you, and you’re going to get a nice night’s sleep.”

  “Don’ wanna shleep.”

  She untangled herself from him, which wasn’t as easy as it sounded, considering that he didn’t want to be untangled and kept trying to hold her captive, octopus-like, all questing arms and legs.

  Finally she was upright, both feet planted firmly on the floor and he was on the bed. The picture of innocence.

  Skylar resisted the urge to smooth back his hair. She didn’t dare get that close to his hands again. Instead she walked to the foot of the bed and removed his shoes, taking note that he had big feet.

  What was it they always said about men with big feet?

  Oh, mercy, she didn’t want to know. Didn’t want even to think about that.

  She grabbed a quilt from the top of the closet and threw it over him.

  “Good night, Daniel,” she said, then practically ran from the room.

  He was saying something, but she didn’t wait to hear. She didn’t stop until she was safe in her bedroom.

  Or was she? Memories were no respecters of walls.

  She stripped her wet dress off, hung it over the shower rail to dry, though what good that was going do, she didn’t know. It was probably ruined. All those sequins.

  Skylar climbed into bed and pulled the covers up to her chin. She had bigger things to worry about than ruining a five-hundred-dollar dress. Bigger, as in six feet tall. Possibly more. A hundred eighty pounds. Give or take a few. A killer smile, and kisses to die for.

  Groaning, Skylar tossed and turned, tangling the covers around herself so that she felt like a mummy.

  A loud thump in the next room jerked her upright.

  “Daniel!”

  Had she slept? She must have for the luminous hands on the clock were pointing to three o’clock.

  She sat there with the covers pulled up to her chin, listening. There was another loud thump, followed by a muttered oath.

  Skylar rushed into the spare room and found Daniel upright, though just barely. Wearing not a stitch. His clothes were strewn about the room, mostly on the floor, as if a strong wind had flung them there.

  Or a strong pair of arms. A muscular, sun-bronzed pair of arms that had held her in a way that melted her heart.

  “Daniel, what are you doing out of the bed?”

  “Skylar? Where am I?”

  “You’re in my house. You were too drunk to go home so I brought you here.”

  The room was dim, with only the feeble light leaking through from the bathroom to illuminate the two people who faced each other. Suddenly aware. Suddenly tense with the knowledge that Daniel was naked and Skylar almost.

  They reached out at the same time, Daniel for his shorts and Skylar for his white shirt. Her hair hid her flaming face as she struggled with the tiny buttons.

  Leave. Why couldn’t she just walk out and leave him standing there?

  Because he might need me.

  He was still a little stumbly, his speech a little slurred.

  Who was she trying to kid? She couldn’t leave because she might need him. Need him with an urgency that stole her reason.

  His eyes were deep dark pools, sucking her in. If she didn’t leave soon she would drown.

  “If you don’t need me, I guess I’ll be going.”

  She raced toward the door, almost made it through when he stopped her.

  “Don’t go.”

  She turned back to him, knowing she shouldn’t, knowing she couldn’t help herself.

  “Please…Sky…”

  He held out his hand and she moved toward him slowly, a moth headed toward flames.

  Chapter Twelve

  From the diary of Anne Beaufort Westmoreland:

  September 23, 200l

  Sometime in the middle of the night I felt the change in Michael. I was in bed with him…(yes, that’s what I said, in the bed with Michael. I don’t care who doesn’t like it. He’s my husband. More than that, he’s my love, and that’s where we belong. Together.)

  Anyway, I was lying there with my hand over his heart so I could make sure it kept beating, when all of a sudden I felt this awareness in him. That’s the only way I can describe it. Awareness, as if suddenly Michael had returned to his body, as if suddenly he had decided to fight the pneumonia, to fight his way back to me.

  He’s coming back to us. I just know it.

  That’s what I told Emily when she and Jake came in early this morning.

  “Do you think so, Mom?” she asked.

  “I know so, Em. And don’t you ever forget it.”

  I’m glad Jake’s with her. He’s levelheaded and steady. Just what Emily needs. More than that, he loves her extravagantly.

  This morning she talked of postponing the wedding, waiting until Michael comes out of his coma, but I told her, “You aren’t going to do any such thing. I’m not going to let you and Jake put your life on hold. Besides, your father needs a deadline, something to inspire him to wake up and get out of that bed.”

  Jake has taken her downtown now so they can make a few arrangements. They didn’t say what. I assume they’ll be talking to florists and whatnot. Of course, Daniel will perform the ceremony.

  And speaking of Daniel, here’s what Emily said to me this morning:

  “Daniel didn’t come home last night.”

  “What do you mean, didn’t come home?”

  “Exactly that. He wasn’t there when Jake and I got in from the airport. We waited for him to come down to breakfast, and when he didn’t show up I got worried and went upstairs to check. His bed hasn’t even been slept in.”

  “Don’t worry. Daniel’s a grown man. He can take care of himself.”

  That’s what I told Emily, “Don’t worry.” Naturally, I can’t help but worry, myself. So much has happened lately that I keep expecting disaster around every corner.

  Clarice knows what a fussbudget I’ve become. “You’ve got to stop that,” she told me yesterday. “Now you listen to me, Anne Westmoreland, you’re the most optimistic person I know and I’m not going to let you turn into some old prune-faced pessimist right before my very eyes.”

  That got a rise out of me. “Prune-faced!” I yelled, and she burst into this glorious, full-bodied laugh that had everybody in the nursing home turning their heads and smiling, which just goes to show that there’s not enough laughter in nursing homes.

  Something ought to be done about that. They say laughter is the best medicine.

  Come to think of it, I’m the one who can do something about that. Michael loves those old Laurel and Hardy movies. We used to cuddle together on the bed and laugh our heads off at the antics of those two. What great comedians.

  When Emily and Jake get back I’ll send them home to get a few of those old movies, then I’ll turn on the VCR and sit beside Michael’s bed and laugh my head off. Hoping he’ll hear. Hoping he’ll want to laugh, too.

  Or maybe I’ll call home and see if Daniel can bring one. If he’s home…

  Chapter Thirteen

  Two things awakened Daniel: the sun pouring through the window and the awareness of a warm body curled next to him.

  He eased his eyes open, then quickly shut them against the pain that hammered his head. He was going to have a doozy of a hangover, something he hadn’t dealt with since the wild days of his youth.

  Of m
ore immediate concern were the woman sleeping in his arms—in his shirt, as a matter of fact—and his libido. Fully functioning. Calling attention to itself. Demanding relief.

  Lord have mercy. What was he going to do?

  More to the point, what had he done?

  Last night was a blur. He clearly remembered going into a place called Babe’s. He remembered his first drink, and how he’d almost choked on alcohol and guilt. The second had gone down easier. And the third. After that…God only knew…

  Did He?

  Daniel eased his eyes shut. Even blinking too fast made his head pound.

  He was in no condition to do any soul-searching. The only condition he was in was an embarrassing one. Doubly so, because Skylar was waking up. Slowly. Causing Daniel further consternation.

  She arched her back like a cat, and every delectable inch of her body rubbed against him—her silky arms, her long, long legs, her soft breasts, her…

  Lord have mercy, he didn’t want to even think about that. There was only so much temptation a man could stand.

  Had he? Had he withstood temptation last night? If so, what was she doing in his bed?

  Actually, it was her bed. Had to be. There were no brass beds at Belle Rose. Furthermore, he’d left the nursing home with the full intention of avoiding going back there, going back and playing the game: Daniel Westmoreland, steady, reliable, dependable, a port in every storm, leader of his flock, interim leader of his family, a man who had all the answers.

  Hell, he didn’t have one single answer. Furthermore, that was the first time he’d even thought a byword in…how many years was it? Seven? Eight?

  Skylar stretched once more, raising her arms and throwing her head back in a big yawn. She looked adorable. Good enough to eat. And that’s what he wanted to do. Nibble on every inch of her, starting with her shapely toes.

  Any minute now she would be fully awake. She’d open her eyes and see him. What should he do? Leap out of bed and grab his clothes? No, that would be cowardly. Furthermore, they were so entangled any small movement would jar her awake, and he didn’t want to do that.

  There was only one thing to do: lie there and face the music.

  Skylar felt so safe and cozy she didn’t even want to open her eyes. And so she didn’t.

  She hadn’t awakened with that feeling in a long time. Not since early childhood. Way back to the days of innocence.

  Anyhow, she’d never been one to face the day with a bang. She liked to ease into her day. Stick a toe outside and test the waters. Run around naked awhile so she could get used to being in her own skin once more.

  And so she cuddled back down into her good warm spot and let herself drift, dreaming…. There was a strong pair of arms wrapped ’round her (Yum!) and a broad chest pillowing her cheek, lots of good-smelling chest hair…oh, she loved this. She was never going to open her eyes.

  Never.

  Until this very minute she hadn’t realized how tired she was of waking up in a bed all by herself. Of being alone. Adrift in a murky cosmic fog, one against the world.

  She lay securely in a pleasant half-dreaming state until something inside her triggered an alarm. She snapped open her eyes, then lay there with reality crashing down around her.

  This was no dream; this was real. She was lying in bed cuddled up to a preacher. Lord help her, what had she been thinking last night? Apparently she hadn’t been thinking at all.

  “Good morning.”

  Daniel sounded as casual as if the two of them had accidentally met over coffee at the doughnut shop instead of waking up tangled together in the bed.

  “Good morning,” she said, and then they stared at each other until both their faces flushed with the knowledge of where they were and how close they were.

  Lord! if they got any closer she’d faint. It was that simple, that terrifying, that wonderful.

  Here was a man who looked glorious in the morning sun. Disheveled hair, beard stubble, sensational bare chest and all.

  Skylar fought the urge to run her hands over his chest, to tangle her fingers in his chest hair and give a little tug, then bend over, kiss it and make it better.

  Daniel saved her by starting to separate their various body parts. Skylar scooted to the far side of the bed, then noticed the direction of Daniel’s gaze. His shirt was unbuttoned about halfway down and gaping enough to put most of her torso on full display.

  She pulled the sheet up to her chin, and he pulled it above his waist. But not before she got an eyeful.

  “I’m afraid I don’t remember much about last night,” he said.

  “No, you wouldn’t.”

  “I apologize for that.”

  “Don’t. I like a man with enough faults to be human.”

  “How did I get here?”

  “You said you didn’t want to go home, so I rescued you.”

  He chuckled. “You rescued me?”

  “I don’t see anything so funny about that.”

  “It’s not funny, it’s delightful. You have one of the kindest hearts I’ve ever known.”

  “Well, don’t tell anybody. I don’t want to ruin my reputation.”

  “Your secret is safe with me.”

  She gave him a wicked smile. “And yours is safe with me.”

  His smile vanished, and deep color flushed his face.

  “I don’t quite know how to say this,” he said.

  “Go ahead. I’ve heard it all. Nothing shocks me.”

  “Did anything happen here last night?”

  Skylar thought of several ways she could reply. No, she could say, but if we don’t get out of this bed soon something’s going to.

  That would send him scurrying. And in a hurry.

  Or she could say, Hmmmm, Yummy! then watch him twist in the winds of guilt.

  If she wanted to. Which she didn’t. She had no desire to make Daniel Westmoreland feel any worse than he already did.

  Skylar sighed. If she didn’t watch herself she was going to turn into a boring, conventional woman.

  “If you mean, did you do anything that would force me to make an honest man of you, the answer is no.”

  If he looked relieved she was going to kill him. Fortunately, all he did was have the grace to look chagrined. Skylar couldn’t resist one last word.

  “Believe me, Daniel, if anything had happened in this bed last night, you’d remember.”

  With that last word she flounced out of bed and marched out of the bedroom.

  Let him chew on that for a while. She had things to do, places to go, people to see. Besides that, she had to get dressed.

  And, she hoped, so would he. Just the thought of him sitting in there half-naked was enough to put her in a snit. On the way to her bedroom she scowled at the cat and kicked a footstool, just for good measure.

  Then she realized she was still wearing Daniel’s shirt, which meant he didn’t have anything to cover his fabulous chest, and that made her even madder.

  “Well, hell.” She jerked the shirt off and grabbed her robe then marched back in there to deliver his clothes.

  Too late, she realized she hadn’t knocked. Daniel was standing in the middle of the room, one foot in his pants and one out. Chest bare. Great legs. Delicious looking.

  “I brought your shirt.”

  “Thanks.”

  Their eyes locked, and all of a sudden it got too hot in the room. Skylar hung his shirt on the doorknob and fled.

  So far, so good. Now she just had to get through the next few minutes till she could get him out of the house. She dressed quickly in the oldest, scruffiest sweatshirt she could find and a comfortable pair of faded jeans, not too tight. She didn’t want to appear the least bit provocative.

  Not that anything would happen between her and Daniel while he was stone-cold sober. She was the last woman in the world he’d want to get involved with. Completely wrong for him in every way.

  Not the least of which was her profession.

  She went into the kitchen w
ith Pussy Willow stalking along behind her, decidedly miffed. Cats don’t take well to being ignored. Especially this cat. Pussy Willow considered herself queen of the house, and woe unto Skylar if she forgot.

  She poured gourmet cat food into a china dish then said, “Here, kitty, kitty.”

  Pussy Willow turned her back, ignoring Skylar. She hated being called kitty. Her whole attitude said, I have a name, thank you very much, and I’d appreciate it if you’d use it.

  “Okay, Pussy Willow. I give up. I’m going to leave your food here and you can eat it or not. I don’t care. I have more important things on my mind.”

  “Pussy Willow?”

  Skylar jumped as if she’d been shot. Daniel was standing in the doorway fully dressed and still every bit as appealing as he had been without clothes.

  Oh, help.

  “Yes. I named her that because I found her underneath a willow tree.” She made a face. “Not very creative, I know.”

  “She’s a beautiful cat.”

  “Don’t tell her that. She already has a big head.”

  Daniel laughed, then put his hands on his temples.

  “I wonder if I could trouble you for an aspirin? I seem to have a headache.”

  “I don’t wonder. There’s some in the top left drawer of the vanity in the guest bathroom.”

  “Thanks.”

  He left, walking as if every step hurt. Skylar knew just how he felt.

  The night she’d come back from Europe and found they’d buried her father she’d consoled herself with half a bottle of wine. And she didn’t even drink. Not much, anyhow. And never more than one glass. Two was enough to put her three sheets to the wind.

  When Daniel returned, she handed him a concoction she’d mixed—tomato juice, red-hot sauce, bits of onion, a squirt of lemon.

  “What is it?”

  “Hair of the dog.”

  “Does that mean don’t ask?”

  “Yes. Just drink it fast and drink it all.”

  He passed it under his nose, sniffing, then made a face. She laughed.

  “You can hold your nose if you like,” she said.

  Daniel upended his glass and then raced to the bathroom gagging.