TAKE A CHANCE ON ME

by Susan Donovan

  "Thomas?"

  "Yeah. I forgot, I guess."

  After a moment of listening to Rollo breathe, he heard Pam's voice in the background, running through a list of questions she wanted relayed to her brother via her husband, and they all had to do with Thomas's physical health and state of mind.

  Thomas rolled his eyes. "Tell Pam I'm fine, wouldya? It's just … well … Emma's here and I'm not going to make it today. In fact, I think I might just pack it in permanently."

  Rollo's laughter started low and soft and then Thomas heard it rumble and then eventually explode in his ear, only to be followed by a series of obnoxious hoots and whoops.

  Thomas hung up on him.

  As he pulled out the lettuce, tomato, and turkey from the fridge, it occurred to him that it was true, he'd found something he craved as much as hitting and being hit, that made him feel profoundly alive, that made everything else disappear.

  His real reason for living.

  And the bonus was that making love to Emma was somewhat easier on his knees and lower back and, with any luck, it was something he could keep doing until he was a very old man.

  He was about to set the sandwich makings on the kitchen table when he saw her. She stood in the doorway, in the white oxford shirt he'd worn last night.

  Dear God, he'd always loved the sight of a beautiful woman in a man's shirt. But this was Emma in his shirt, and the buttons were cock-eyed, and her hair was falling in a messy cascade down one side of her face, and he could see down into her lusty cleavage and up into the sweet vee of her inner thighs. It was almost more than he could handle.

  A rosy flush extended from her chest to her cheeks and her eyes were sparkling and her lips were puffy and he adored her.

  He absolutely adored the woman.

  "Hi," she whispered, leaning up against the archway. "I think the phone woke me up."

  Everything Thomas held in his hands crashed to the tabletop. "Hey, Emma."

  She blinked and ran a hand through the shiny fall of hair. "Is this going to be awkward, Thomas? Because I was really hoping we could skip that part. I just want it to be … oh, hell, I don't know…"

  "Perfect?" In two strides, he'd eaten up the space between them. He didn't know what he'd do once he got to her—he just knew he had to get there.

  He picked her up and carried her to one of the kitchen chairs, where he cradled her in his lap. He smiled when he felt her arms go loose around his neck, her kisses land on top of his head.

  "Do you have any plans for the rest of the day?" His question was muffled as he rubbed his face between those breasts, so comforting, so welcoming, so female—so damn erotic…

  Emma began to laugh, and Thomas closed his eyes and let his face enjoy the ride.

  "Actually, I started out the day with a long list of errands to run, but I have a feeling I'm not going to get to any of them."

  "You're so right." He couldn't help it. His hands were already up inside the shirttail and all over her bottom and lower back, rubbing, caressing, wanting.

  Emma arched into his touch. "I was supposed to take Leelee shopping this afternoon. I better call her."

  "I'll call her." Thomas stood up, plopped Emma down on the edge of the table, and reached for the kitchen wall phone. He kept one eye on Emma while he dialed. She looked so lip-smacking good that he knew even a brief conversation would be a challenge.

  "Leelee, this is Thomas the Tongue."

  "Hah!" she said. "Did you kidnap her or something? We were supposed to go to the mall."

  "Yeah. I know. Here's the deal, junior—jewelry, furs, cruises, vacation property, tech stocks, whatever you want, it's yours. And you can drive the Audi in the driveway. But it will have to be tomorrow."

  Leelee hissed with impatience, then giggled. "Can I drive it the whole way down the lane?"

  Thomas swallowed hard as dual images duked it out in his brain—the imagined sight of his car going into the ditch and the reality of Emma crossing her legs, the shirt falling open across her upper thighs.

  "Your wish is my command, Leelee."

  "Awesome. Will you take me to Tyson's Corner?"

  "Yeah. Sure. Sounds fun." Thomas hated that monstrosity of a shopping mall more than he hated Celine Dion, but Emma was leaning back on her hands and she was smiling like she loved him.

  "So I'll see you guys tomorrow?"

  Leelee's voice suddenly sounded young and timid, and Thomas jolted at the change. His throat clamped tight. "Hey, Lee? I appreciate this. I really do. I'll make it up to you, kid. I promise."

  "Oh, you know you will," she said, laughing. Then after a moment of quiet, she said, "I guess I'm going to have to learn to share, aren't I?"

  Thomas smiled at that, and he felt his chest expand with a warm heat and a strange flush of connection, and it dawned on him that in the space of days he'd gone from a man who preferred to be alone to a man who happily had two women to take care of, make promises to—two women to love.

  "I'll be learning right along with you," Thomas said.

  He hung up the phone and turned to face Emma, who had unbuttoned the shirt and was reclining back upon her elbows. A stream of afternoon sun spilled over the pale silk of her breasts and belly, and put a spotlight on the sweet heaven between her thighs.

  "What's for lunch?" she asked, shaking out her hair and smiling wickedly.

  "Tongue," he said, closing in on her. "Specialty of the house."

  * * *

  It was nearly dark and there was a twinge of fall in the air as they walked down the sidewalk, holding hands. Hairy skittered under their feet, sniffing and peeing on everything in his path—mailboxes, wire mesh trash barrels, streetlights, and tree trunks.

  Thomas smiled down at Emma and squeezed her hand.

  She was awed by how quickly she'd come to love this man, by how much love there was inside her to give him.

  Emma gazed out absently at the Federal Hill evening traffic, headlights flickering on, and knew that she'd never once felt this way with Aaron.

  Yes, there'd been a wild flare of endorphins at the beginning, but even then Emma was aware that something wasn't quite right between them. Aaron made sure Emma knew that she fell short of his ideal woman. He made sure she blamed herself for the lack of zing in their relationship.

  And what had she done? She'd disregarded her intuition and married him anyway, because she figured that it might not be perfect, but it was close enough.

  And what about this man who now held her hand? She looked up and he smiled down at her again—the private smile of a lover who knew her well—and she felt the truth sink into her bones: she was made for Thomas, and he was made for her. It was that simple.

  In her mind she saw Mother Nature in her flowing white robes and her crown of blossoms, scanning her clipboard and arranging things so that Emma Jenkins and Thomas Tobin would be alive on earth at the same time, in the same geographic vicinity, so they could find each other.

  She glanced down at the little dog at the end of the leash and had to laugh. Maybe Hairy was Mother Nature's emissary. Maybe she owed her happiness to Hairy.

  "What's so funny?"

  Emma shook her head. "I was just thinking that Hairy is the most unusual dog I've ever known. He's weird even for a Crested."

  "You got that right, babe."

  "And sometimes, I look at him and I get this feeling he really understands what's going on. He's unusually intelligent. I swear—and I know I sound like one of my crazy clients and should be shot—but I swear he smiles at me sometimes."

  Thomas cocked his head. "I've had the same feeling."

  "Huh." She studied the dog for a minute. He peed on a bus shelter. "So you're not even tempted to give Hairy to that Maxine woman up in Delaware?"

  Thomas laughed. "Hell, no! Hairy's not going to live in a trailer park if I have anything to say about it."

  "You're going to keep him?"

  "I think I have to, now."

  "Why's that?"

  Thom
as shrugged. "Because he's Leelee's dog now as much as mine. He stays with you guys half the time. Besides, I think I'd miss the little butt-ugly fu—fellow."

  Emma leaned closer and wrapped an arm around his waist, laughing. It was nine o'clock—meaning they'd been lovers for about twelve hours. It felt as comfortable as twelve years.

  "Besides, some things are just meant to be." Thomas pulled her tight. "Don't you agree?"

  "Sure seems that way."

  Thomas had driven her to delirium on the kitchen table, then made her a turkey on whole wheat. They made love in the shower, then took a nap, heated up leftover pizza for dinner, and made love again before taking Hairy on his evening constitutional.

  And each time and every minute in between, Emma felt linked with Thomas, a kind of body-and-soul melding she'd never once experienced in thirteen years with Aaron.

  She thought back to the first time she saw Thomas's face, to that spark of connection she felt. And she wondered if all they'd done was fan the spark until it ignited, and they'd never have to suffer through another cold night as long as they lived.

  "I want to marry you, Emma."

  "Whaa—?" She nearly tripped before Thomas could pull her into his arms.

  "I didn't mean to scare you."

  "Too late."

  He smiled down at her, chuckling. "It doesn't have to be right now. We don't have to jump on the first plane to Vegas, but I want to marry you. Soon. Would you be my wife?"

  He was looking down at her with that tortured expression, and Emma knew he was absolutely serious. He wanted to marry her! Her mouth fell open.

  Hairy's leash was now tangled in their ankles, and he began to make gagging noises just as Emma heard a friendly voice call out, "Well, hello, stranger!"

  She whipped around to see a very blond, very leather-encased man standing near them. He was accompanied by a female Cockapoo in a tennis outfit whom Hairy had already started humping, tangled leash or no.

  "Hey, Franco."

  "Hi, Thomas."

  As Thomas unknotted Hairy's leash, Emma felt the man's eyes scan her from head to toe, and it clearly wasn't interest she saw in his eyes—it was jealousy.

  Oh, Lordy!

  "This is my fiancée, Emma Jenkins. She's a pet behaviorist. Emma, this is Franco and Quiche Lorraine."

  The shock pounded Emma so hard that she couldn't speak. She simply extended her hand and tried to smile while the Franco person oohed and aahed about her job.

  Thomas had just asked her to marry him! He'd just proudly announced that she was his fiancée! Didn't she have a say in any of this?

  Besides, what in the world would it be like to be his wife?

  As she watched Franco chat with Thomas, she wondered if she was strong enough to be married to a Viking love god in Nikes with no socks, a man whose appeal apparently extended to people of both genders.

  "Have you set a date?" Franco's eyebrows rose in nicely groomed arches. "As it happens, I'm a wedding planner." He somehow managed to squeeze his fingers into the pocket of his leather pants to extract a small silver case. He handed Emma a business card.

  "Intimate gatherings, beer brawls, anything in between. So how long have you been engaged?"

  Emma really did try to get her lips to move, but it felt as if the nerve endings had been severed.

  "About thirty seconds, Franco." Thomas laughed, turning his Christmas-tree-tinsel eyes on Emma. "Hell, she hasn't even had a chance to say yes yet."

  Emma's tongue felt like it had been super glued to the roof of her mouth.

  "Whoops!" Franco stifled a giggle and swept down to snatch Lorraine. "We're out of here. Sorry to intrude. It was nice to meet you, Emma. See you, Thomas."

  After Franco rounded the corner, they stood together in silence for a few moments. Then Emma dared look up at Thomas. His head was cocked to one side, his smile was soft, his expression sheepish.

  "So?"

  Emma swallowed. "So what?" She was relieved that her voice still worked.

  "Intimate gathering or beer brawl?"

  "Whaa—?"

  "Really. What do you think about my question? Are you pissed off, ecstatic, what?"

  "I'm … I'm dumbfounded."

  "Yeah." He chuckled. "Me, too."

  Thomas bent down, scooped up Hairy and turned him around to face home. He found Emma's hand and they began to head back.

  "I know that wasn't the most romantic proposal in the history of the world, but I've been feeling kind of spontaneous lately." He looked at her sideways and wagged his semicolon. "It's been kind of a mind-blowing day, hasn't it?"

  "You could say that."

  "It's something to think about, anyway. You. Me. Leelee. Assorted domesticated animals. It sounds right."

  "Leelee?" At that, Emma stopped in her tracks. "What are you saying, Thomas?"

  He raised his eyes up to the sky and shrugged, and Emma stared at his big silhouette in the twilight. When he lowered his gaze, she was jolted by the stark tenderness in his expression.

  "I'm a man who can't have kids. She's a kid who needs a man to be her dad. I happen to love her mother more than I ever thought I could love anyone. She happens to love my fruity dog. I'd say it's damn near perfect."

  Emma looked around for a place to collapse—she needed to sit before she fell. She staggered over to the marble front steps of someone's tidy red-brick townhouse and tumbled down. Thomas landed right next to her.

  "I know this is a lot, baby. You can ask Pam or Rollo or my rugby teammates or the people on the task force—I'm not usually like this. I guess I'm just … just afraid that—"

  Emma threw her arms around his neck and hugged him as tight as she could. When his big hands spread over her back, she felt the peace slide over her. It was like she'd reached a quiet understanding with the universe, as if Mother Nature herself had just put a big check mark on her clipboard and given Emma a wink.

  She started to laugh. "Okay," she whispered in his ear.

  His body relaxed against hers. "Damn, that's great."

  "But let's go slow." She looked up into his face. "Let's give Leelee a little more time before we tell her. Let's give ourselves a little more time."

  He nodded, the dimples deep and sweet beside his smile. "Anything, Emma." He gave her a gentle little kiss and held her face in his hands. "Anything for you."

  * * *

  His car burned.

  The 1978 Black Pearl Datsun 280 Z with a V-8 engine, five-speed overdrive, and the below-standard exhaust system—his heart's delight, the one love that never let him down—was going up in flames in the parking lot of the King of Hearts Motor Court.

  Aaron watched helplessly as the new paint job peeled away from the steel frame like skin from bone. Black smoke stung his eyes and tasted sour in his throat. The yellow and red flames licked up from under the hood like ugly laughter.

  He heard the wail of the fire engines and realized the ugly laughter was coming from him.

  Well, why not laugh? Because at this moment, he could honestly say that his life was officially, one hundred percent fucked. There was nothing left of what he had only a year ago. Literally—poof! It had all gone up in smoke.

  The funniest part was that his first instinct was to go to Emma, sweet, forgiving Emma, the glue that had kept him from splitting in two, the epicenter of everything that was decent in his life. A year ago, she would have taken him in her arms, held him to her breast, stroked his head. She would've found a way to make him laugh about this. She would have kissed away his pain.

  The sirens shrieked inside his head.

  Okay, fine. Two years ago, maybe. This time last year, Emma was handing him divorce papers.

  But it was all real once, wasn't it? He'd had that woman by his side every day and in his bed every night. He'd had her love. He wasn't making that up, was he?

  What the hell had he done?

  As he watched the firefighters hook up a limp yellow hose to the hydrant, Aaron saw his mistake with more clarity th
an ever.

  He'd let his compulsion get bigger than his love. He'd taken her for granted. He'd never really admitted how much he loved her. Then he'd let her go.

  He'd ruined his marriage. He'd ruined his life. The hose swelled and burst and he watched two firefighters wrestle to control the violent blast that soaked the Z. In a matter of moments, the car had been reduced to a charcoal briquette, oozing with fire retardant foam and hissing with water.

  Aaron closed his door and retreated into the gloom, pausing when he saw his reflection in the rusty mirror.

  Too bad the Z hadn't had enough gas in the tank to blow sky high. Too bad he hadn't been blown up with it.

  He didn't even recognize the man he saw in the mirror. That man had no center. No heart. No Emma.

  That man had who knew how many more days to live? And nothing left to lose.

  * * *

  Chapter 18

  Love Hangover

  « ^ »

  The first splashes of crimson and gold dotted the tree line between farm fields, and the sky was a sharp, cool blue. Emma tilted her face and breathed deep, feeling the sun on her skin and the pleasant rock of her hips in the saddle.

  The rush she got from loving Thomas hadn't dissipated in the last few weeks, but it had mellowed, found its own rich and pleasurable rhythm. And lately her happiness seemed to be a physical entity in itself, something that sat deep inside her, weighted and sure, at the core of everything she did. And she could feel it growing every day.

  She looked over at her riding companion, and chuckled to herself. Thomas seemed more relaxed on Bud today, less like a man with an iron rod up his spine. And Bud seemed resigned to carrying Thomas, no longer gazing at her with that pitiful, put-upon expression. It did her heart good to see the two of them getting along.

  "It's gorgeous out here," Thomas said, the way he always did when she took him riding.

  "I'm glad you think so."

  He turned to her. "You're gorgeous out here."

  "I'm glad you think so."

  "Let's get naked."

  Emma laughed. The man needed a prong collar. Admittedly, not having to worry about pregnancy or disease sure allowed for things to be spontaneous. And she'd lost track of how often and in how many places they'd been spontaneous.