INTERRUPTED LULLABY

by Valery Parv

  "Did it occur to you that a grandchild might have given me back something of what I was losing?"

  In her desire to protect her mother from further hurt, Tara hadn't considered such a possibility. "I guess I wasn't thinking too straight, especially after I lost the baby."

  Lillian's expression was so filled with compassion that Tara wanted to cry. But it was too late for tears. She felt something pressing against her breast and found that she was cradling a hard plastic doll as if it were a child. Her breath hitched on a sob and she put the doll gently to one side.

  "Do you feel like talking about it?" her mother asked softly.

  Kneeling among the debris of her childhood, Tara told her mother the whole story, ending with Zeke's return and his anger at being shut out of what he saw as the most important event of his life.

  "The worst of it is, he's right," she concluded. "When I was pregnant, I didn't consider anyone else, not Zeke, not you." She rested a hand on her mother's knee. "Can you forgive me?"

  "You're forgetting that nature programs us to shut out everything but the baby we're nurturing," her mother pointed out. "Even in the best-adjusted families, fathers can be made to feel they're more hindrance than help during pregnancy, because we become so inwardly focused. So there's nothing to forgive. I only wish that I'd been there for you instead of being so wrapped up in myself."

  "Don't start blaming yourself," Tara said sternly. She recalled the words she'd said to Zeke. "It simply wasn't meant to be."

  "What about you and Zeke?"

  She had meant to close the discussion, but her mother's expression suggested she wasn't letting it go so easily this time. "What about him?" she hedged.

  "Now he's home, will you get back together?"

  Tara shook her head. "He hates me too much for shutting him out."

  "He sounds a bit like your father."

  Tara had barely spoken to her father since he'd walked out on her mother, not so much because he had ended the marriage, but because of his reasons for doing so. He had always put appearance before every other quality, manipulating Tara into following a modeling career regardless of her preferences, by arranging to have a friend in the business "discover" her at a shopping mall. By the time she found out what he'd done, she was under contract to an agency, being hailed as the new Elle McPherson and her career had developed a life of its own. Tara hadn't especially enjoyed the adulation, but neither had she tried to walk away.

  Her mother had always been a beautiful woman and Tara's father had made no secret of his pride in the fact. As soon as her age began to show, he had paid for her to have a facelift, and had lavished huge sums on beauticians and dress designers to ensure she remained an ornament to him. Then she had discovered a melanoma on her cheek. While not malignant, it went deeper than first suspected and the resulting surgery had left a slight but visible mark.

  To anyone else Lillian was still attractive, slim and youthful looking, Tara thought, looking at her mother now. Artful use of makeup concealed the damage. But Tara's father hadn't been able to accept the imperfection, not even in his wife of thirty-five years. First he had changed seats at table so he sat on what she called her "good" side. Then he had left altogether to think things through, or so he said.

  Tara hated the idea that Zeke had anything in common with such an unfeeling man and said so.

  "Your father has his good qualities," Lillian said mildly. "I simply meant they're both incredibly strong men who know what they want and go after it. They would never dream of accepting second best."

  "You are not second best," Tara said hotly, unhappy to think her father could see her mother like that. Another thought struck her. "You don't mean that Zeke thinks of me that way?"

  "No, but he's probably upset about what you took from him—the chance to be part of a real family."

  What was her mother trying to say? Tara jumped to her feet. "I couldn't help what happened."

  Lillian reached for her hand and tugged her down again. Tara resisted at first, then allowed herself to be guided onto an old tin trunk. "I never meant to suggest you could change what happened to the baby, only how you handled Zeke," her mother assured her. "He probably feels cheated of the nine months you could have shared. Remember, he never had a real family, as you and I knew it. Your father and I may have our differences now, but when you and Ben were children, we tried to give you a family home where you felt loved and secure."

  "You succeeded," Tara said, squeezing her mother's hand as her vision blurred again. She blinked rapidly. "Maybe that's why I have such high expectations now."

  "As long as you don't make them so high, no real man can measure up."

  * * *

  Tara was still weighing Lillian's words when she got home lugging a heavy bag of items and photographs her mother had wanted her to have as keepsakes. With no child of her own to pass them on to, Tara saw little point in keeping them but had bowed to her mother's wish.

  Bracing the front door with a foot, she pushed the bag inside and pocketed her key before stepping inside and closing the door. Immediately some sixth sense told her she wasn't alone, and the small hairs rose on the back of her neck. Her hand froze on the doorknob. "Is someone here?"

  Moving slowly, she reached for a club a golfing friend had left in the umbrella holder beside the door after an overnight stay. She felt comforted as her hand closed around the frayed leather grip. A large male shape loomed at one end of the hallway, backlit by the light from the living room. Her breath caught until she recognized who it was.

  He came closer. "Tara, it's okay, it's only me."

  Relief made her knees weaken. "So I see. One more step and I'd have brained you with this." She hefted the golf club to show him.

  "Quite a weapon," he said sourly. "I'm glad you don't shoot first and ask questions later. I don't fancy a head with a hole in one."

  "Very funny," she snapped, feeling tremors of reaction sweep through her. "What are you doing here? I thought you returned the key I gave you."

  He tossed a key up and down in his palm. "I did. Then I remembered the spare you keep under the fake rock in the front garden. Wonderful security, by the way."

  She made a mental note to find a new hiding place for the spare key. "It was fine until you got here." A lot of things had been fine until then, she was well aware. "Did you have to scare me half to death?"

  "I'm sorry. I didn't mean to alarm you."

  His stiff posture and cold tone finally registered with her. This wasn't a friendly visit, then. She accepted that his hostility was her own fault, but it didn't make it any easier to bear. "What are you doing here?" she repeated tiredly.

  "Believe me, I don't want to drag this out any more than you do."

  She wanted to go into the living room and sit down, but it meant moving past Zeke in the narrow hallway. She wasn't sure she could touch him without wanting to do more, so she stayed where she was. She made her tone light. "Then don't. There are such things as telephones. Heck, these days there's even fax and e-mail. I have all three, and the numbers haven't changed since you left."

  "They work both ways."

  She knew what he was saying. She could have contacted him in any number of ways after he went to America. She pushed the golf club back into the umbrella holder and braced herself against the front door. "I know. We could have done a lot of things differently. But it's too late now." She lifted a wide-eyed gaze to him. "You may not accept this, but I'll always regret not telling you I was pregnant. If there was any way to go back and change it, I probably would."

  "Would you, Tara?" His cold tone rang with disbelief.

  "Yes. So you didn't need to come over and lecture me."

  "It isn't why I'm here."

  For a split second her spirits spiraled upward although her common sense shied away from what he seemed to imply. Hardest to control was her body's primitive response to the thought of once more being loved by him as only Zeke knew how to love her. She told herself she was a fool,
but the cravings refused to subside.

  She needed to put some space between them. "Shall we go into the living room?"

  Instead of stepping through the doorway behind him, as any sane person would have done, he flattened himself against the wall. "After you."

  She almost groaned out loud. Hadn't he heard of women's lib? She took a tentative step toward him and her foot caught on the heavy bag of keepsakes from her mother. Zeke moved swiftly, catching her before she could sprawl all her length.

  In her heart, she had sensed the risk in touching him, and now she knew it was more than justified. As his arms closed around her, flames tore through her until it was all she could do not to link her arms around his neck and pull him against her, locking her mouth with his until they both saw stars.

  She saw her need reflected in his eyes as he set her carefully upright, his hands pulling away from her with obvious reluctance. As his palms skimmed her hips, her breath hitched and she pressed her hands over the tops of his, holding his in place. "Zeke."

  "Tara, it's been so long." His fingers dug convulsively into her hips as if he was staking a claim.

  "We shouldn't."

  His gaze bore into her, dark as honey, urgent as a siren and every bit as impossible to ignore. "I notice you're not saying 'mustn't' or 'won't.'"

  She gave it her best shot. "I mustn't. I won't."

  But she knew she lied even to herself. The feel of Zeke's hands on her hips, urging her toward him, robbed her of the will to fight anymore. Not him, not her own desires. He must have felt her acquiescence but held her away from him, refusing to give in to the madness she saw in his gaze. "I need to know, Tara."

  She threw her head back, her mouth open on as she fought for air. "Don't you know already?"

  He nodded, his expression taut. This was as torturous for him as for her, she saw, and took a little satisfaction in the knowledge. "I still want to hear you say it so there's no misunderstanding."

  At some level she knew he wanted to make sure she wouldn't regret this moment later. She probably would, but she would never accuse him of forcing himself on her, although she couldn't blame him for taking no chances. "All right, I'll say it. I want you, Zeke. If you leave without making love to me, I'll go crazy. Is that enough for you?"

  "If it was enough, I'd go now." He sounded as starved as she felt. But she knew from the way he hauled her to him and ground his mouth against hers that he wasn't going anywhere for a long time.

  * * *

  Chapter 6

  « ^ »

  If Zeke knew nothing else, he knew how Tara liked to be loved. None of this lying back against crisp sheets in a bedroom scented with flickering candles. She preferred the adventure of different settings, unexpected places, the feeling of being taken just a little by surprise. He couldn't deny he liked the feeling of being in command—of the situation and of her. And unless she had changed more than he knew, so did she.

  So he didn't sweep her off her feet and carry her to the bedroom. He started to make love to her right where they were, in the hallway, with a bag of old stuff strewn around their feet where she had fallen over it. Photos, junk and children's toys, he saw in some surprise. What on earth did Tara want with a dog-eared teddy bear?

  Then he had no time to wonder about trivia. He was too busy doing what he had fantasized about for months, exploring every inch of her delectable mouth, throat and face with his lips.

  His mouth surged over hers, taking every drop of sweetness she had to give. He drank her in like wine, his breathing quickening because this was only the first taste. The banquet was still to come, and he felt like a man who hadn't eaten in a long, long time. It made him cautious.

  Her breathing was also ragged as she tore her mouth impatiently from his. "I haven't turned into fragile china since you left."

  "But you have changed." He was only too aware of the ripeness of her breasts pressing against him, driving his excitement higher. What other changes awaited him?

  "We both have. You're gentler, but more giving somehow."

  He thrust his fingers through her hair, letting the silken strands fan away from his hand. A faint scent of some hair product she'd used recently teased his nostrils. "Do you mean I wasn't before?"

  She dropped her head back, giving him access to the slender column of her neck. He dipped his mouth and accepted the offering with lapping kisses that made her close her eyes in ecstasy. "You weren't like this," she said on a husky note.

  He frowned, trying to recall how it was before. He'd always been careful to make sure she was ready for him before he took his own pleasure. At least he thought he had. Maybe his judgment wasn't a hundred percent reliable. Since she seemed to like what he was doing now, he resolved to do more of it. The trouble was, he only had so much endurance.

  Heck, that was probably it. Before, he had thought in terms of getting the first course out of the way so they could get to the main event. He had assumed it was what Tara wanted, too. But she seemed to be getting more out of the first course than he had realized. So be it. He only hoped he could last the distance without disappointing them both.

  Giving her what she wanted wasn't exactly a hardship for him, he soon found. He trailed kisses down the shadowed cleft between her breasts, unbuttoning the first button of her blouse to give him better access. She took his head in both hands and pressed him closer until he registered the frantic beat of her heart through the lacy material.

  He felt a surge of desire so powerful that he had to fight the urge to give in to it. Don't think, don't feel, he commanded himself, desperately calling up mental images of earthquakes, war fronts, solitary nights spent covering stories in far-flung places, anything to get his errant body back under control.

  When he was sure he'd headed off disaster, he turned his attention to her bra, an item of female apparel that had always challenged him. This time it was a wisp of white nonsense that fortunately clasped in the front, so he was able to unclip it without too much fumbling. At last, at last, he could drink his fill of her amazing body.

  Zeke's mouth felt hot against her sensitized nipples, and Tara dragged in air, feeling as if every drop of oxygen had been sucked out of the hallway. The wall felt cool against her back, but where his mouth touched, all was flame.

  It threatened to devour her as he undid her blouse all the way to her waist. She responded by ripping the buttons open on his shirt, her shaking hands heedless of doing damage, wanting … needing … the touch of skin on skin. Under the hands she splayed across his chest, he felt smooth, tanned, hard as a rock. She explored frantically, muscles sliding under her fingers like Braille, the need to touch him driving her to the point of madness.

  Her touch felt like fire on his skin. Didn't she know how hard she was making this, how hard she was making him? Much more of this and no amount of guiding his thoughts elsewhere would be enough.

  He slid his arms around her, trapping her hands between them, stopping the maddening feathering of fingertips against his chest before it was too late. He had waited so long for this to happen that he wanted it to be good between them. Better than good, superlative.

  That he might be staking a claim, alpha male to alpha female, he didn't like to consider. But there was a distant awareness of needing to brand her as his own, warn off all other contenders. If it made him a primitive, then all men were primitive, he decided, because he had yet to meet one who wasn't driven by the same need.

  To perdition with analysis, he declared inwardly. This was a time to feel, not think. He kissed her fiercely, deeply, plunging his tongue into the moist cavern to seek out and twine with hers in a sinuous dance that ignited fires of response all the way to her core.

  He wasn't gentle. He was finally getting the message that she didn't want him to be. Tara knew she wanted to be possessed by him in the truest, most elemental sense. Only then would she know that he had truly come home to her.

  "We'll go into the living room," he said. When she nodded agreement, he towe
d her by the hand into the larger room. The curtains were half drawn against the hot afternoon sun, creating a narrow swathe of gold that burnished the carpet all the way to the plush, velvet-covered sofa.

  Along this sunlit path he led her, her heart pounding with anticipation. When they reached the sofa, he let her go and stood back. "Now get undressed for me."

  The order thrilled her with its unspoken promise that if she didn't obey, he would gladly do the honors for her. For a moment she was tempted to refuse, provoking him into stripping away her resistance along with the layers of clothing. But she didn't want to wait for him that long, so she meekly shed the unbuttoned blouse and bra, letting them drop to the floor so she was fully revealed to him from the waist up. "Is this what you want?"

  His answering growl told her it wasn't nearly enough, but she knew a sudden moment of shyness as her hand went to the zipper of her pants. She hesitated, feeling like a bride on her wedding night, until she reminded herself that this was Zeke, for goodness' sake. Zeke, who had known every part of her more intimately than any man on earth, and who would again very soon.

  The thought was enough to banish shyness, and she slid the zipper all the way down, stepping out of the designer pants and letting them join her other clothing on the floor. That left only a tiny band of lace around her hips.

  Zeke's fingers went to it, tugging impatiently. "This, too." She met his smoldering gaze with a challenging one of her own. "When I'm ready."

  "Still don't know who's boss, do you?" he teased.

  She loved this part of the game. It was the only time in her life that she willingly surrendered control to him because the fantasy was so enticing. She tossed her head back, letting her hair spin in a curtain around her bare shoulders. "I don't see any boss here, only you."

  He crossed his arms over his bare chest, his shirt hanging loose around his shoulders. Her throat dried at the sight of his magnificent torso. He was a big man. In every way, she saw as he shifted restively, his trousers suddenly fitting very snugly indeed. "It seems you've unlearned everything I ever taught you while I was gone. I'm going to have to start the lessons from scratch."