Married in Haste

by Christine Rimmer

  Finally something that required an answer. “No,” Angie said. It was the first word she’d uttered since she entered the house.

  And as she’d hoped it might, it gave the three of them pause. They gaped at her.

  Old Tony sputtered back to life first. “What in hell do you mean, no?”

  “I mean, I’m not going to talk to Glory about staying here in town.”

  Again, they all started yelling at once. Angie let them.

  She kept her mouth shut until her mother finally demanded, “Why? Why won’t you talk to her?”

  And she told them. “I don’t think staying here in town is working for her. Buck and B.J. have offered her a terrific opportunity, a chance for a new start, a chance to be able to take good care of her baby—and go to college at the same time. I’m completely behind her in this. I support her all the way. She’s an adult and it’s her right to make her own choices in life.”

  “But—”

  Angie put up a hand before Stella could get going again. Her aunt surprised her by shutting her mouth. “Leave her alone,” Angie said. “Let her find her own way. She’s going to New York, whether you like it or not. You won’t change her mind—all you’ll do is make it so she dreads the very thought of ever coming back.”

  Her mother let out a soft cry, then—and sank to the sofa. Stella remained blessedly silent.

  And Great-Grandpa Tony just shook his head.

  That was when Angie knew she’d finally gotten through to them.

  At home, Brett’s place at the table was cleared off and he was nowhere in sight. He’d left a note on the counter that said he’d gotten a call.

  Another emergency. She felt a flare of resentment—and reminded herself that handling emergencies was part of his job.

  Angie plopped a cold steak on her plate, served herself some asparagus and a mound of wild rice. She heated the food in the microwave and sat down to eat.

  She was proud of the way she’d handled things at her mother’s house. For the first time in her life, she’d succeeded in getting her mother, her aunt and her great-grandfather to stop shouting long enough to see things a different way.

  It was a big step. It gave her hope for her future relationship with her family.

  Too bad she wasn’t doing as well with her husband.

  That night he came home later than ever. She had no idea when, exactly, because she was sound asleep by then.

  The next day…well, the moment never seemed right.

  Thursday, Angie took the morning off to drive Glory and Johnny to Reno so they could catch their plane. During the ride, Glory spouted constant encouragements.

  “Just tell him, Angie. Just get the words out. That’s all you need to do.”

  Angie wasn’t so sure about that, but she nodded and said she would, and kept her eyes on the twisting road ahead.

  At the airport, she hugged her sister and kissed her nephew’s plump, velvety cheek.

  “Here are my numbers.” Glory pressed a folded piece of paper into Angie’s hand. “Call me. I mean it. Anytime you need to talk.”

  Angie promised that she would and waved them off through the security checkpoint. As she turned to head for her car, she realized she’d never in her life felt so alone.

  Her sister, the one she’d come to trust with all her secrets, was flying off to a new life on the other side of the continent. And she no longer knew how to talk to her husband.

  It was worse, somehow, than in San Francisco, when Jody had betrayed her, beat her black and blue and stole all her money. At least she’d always known that Jody was dangerous.

  But Brett…

  She’d been happy with Brett. For a few short, shining weeks. Now she knew what happiness could be, the lack of it seemed somehow all the more painful.

  And come on. Really. As if telling Brett she was in love with him was going to change a damn thing….

  But still, her sister’s words echoed reproachfully in her brain. Just tell him. Just get the words out.

  So all right. Fair enough. Tonight. She would tell him tonight. No backing out, no putting it off.

  If he got an emergency call, she’d stay up no matter how late he came home. If her family just had to talk to her—too bad. They could wait.

  Nothing.

  Nothing would keep her from saying the words.

  The minute they got home from work, she was hitting him with it.

  Chapter Eleven

  “Please,” Angie said. “Sit down. I really have to talk to you.”

  Brett knew he had no choice. He could see it in her eyes. She wasn’t putting up with any more evasions.

  They were having a “talk” and they were having it now.

  Yeah, he had been avoiding any “talks” lately. He couldn’t see the percentage in hashing it all out. As far as he was concerned, the problem wasn’t anything talking would solve.

  He was, after all, living his worst nightmare. He had it and he had it bad.

  For Angie.

  Morning, noon and night and every moment in between, she was all he could think about. He adored her. He was terrified of losing her. Sometimes he wondered about that guy named Jody, the rotten S.O.B. who’d messed her over.

  Was she still in love with that bastard? Was Brett just second best?

  She’d promised him she was over that guy. Still, he wondered.

  And he despised himself for wondering. He hated that it mattered so damn much.

  This wasn’t…normal. This wasn’t reasonable. Or balanced.

  And damn it. All he’d ever wanted was a normal, reasonable, emotionally balanced life.

  He didn’t want to be like his mother had been over his father. Like Bowie was for Glory. Like he had been for Lisa once.

  Brett liked to live his life in moderation.

  And what he felt for Angie now…

  Not moderate in the least. It was hotter, wilder, more extreme even than the way he’d felt about Lisa.

  Time, he kept telling himself. Time would take care of it. Time would ease the hunger. Time would dull the need.

  He was, after all, a doctor. He understood the biological imperatives. Overwhelming attraction meant a high likelihood of surrender to the sexual act. The sexual act assured the proliferation of the species.

  This madness had a purpose and that purpose was mating. Frequent mating. But even Mother Nature didn’t expect anyone to live in a never-ending state of sexual arousal.

  The studies he’d read predicted that wild sexual attraction, the “honeymoon glow” faded into something milder, more reasonable, within four months to a year. All he had to do was wait this agony out. He’d be free of this constant needing by next May at the latest.

  Then, finally, he and Angie could settle into the kind of life they both wanted: a comfortable life free of destructive emotional extremes.

  Hell. Maybe he’d get lucky and four months would do it; this unbearable yearning would mellow by fall.

  “Brett?”

  He pushed the depressing thoughts away and met her waiting eyes. “Yeah?”

  She indicated the sofa near the fieldstone fireplace. “Please.”

  He wished the phone would ring. It didn’t.

  He scoured his brain for some reason he had to leave. Now.

  But no. Time to stop evading this issue. He didn’t need to talk—didn’t want to talk. But Angie did. She’d told him the night she married him that the thing she loved best about their relationship was the way she could tell him anything. It just wasn’t right or fair for him to keep sidestepping her attempts to get through to him.

  He trudged to the sofa and dropped into it. “Okay, Angie.” He knew he sounded hostile as hell, so he strove for a milder tone. “What is it?”

  She marched over and stood between him and the fireplace. “I…” She gulped. Her slim hands were fisted at her sides, the mouth he loved to kiss no more than a bleak line.

  All at once he wondered if he’d completely misjudged her; if t
his was about something more than how they didn’t talk anymore.

  Something worse. Something unbearable…

  Was she leaving him?

  His gut tightened to a knot and the breath fled his chest. Anything, damn it to hell. Anything but that…

  She said, “Um, Brett. I’m sorry if this upsets you. I know it’s not what we planned, not what we agreed on, but—”

  He could hardly get air, but somehow, he managed to blurt, “Angie. Oh, God. Don’t say it.”

  “I have to.”

  He half rose from the sofa. “No…”

  “Yeah. Oh, Brett. I’m in love with you. Just crazy in love with you. I know it’s not what you want from me, but I can’t help it. It’s true.”

  It took maybe five seconds for her words to sink in. He sank to the sofa again and stared up at her, slack-jawed. “You, uh, what?”

  She drew herself up. “I’m in love with you. Deeply. Completely. I’m sorry that it’s not part of the plan, but I really am.”

  So. She wasn’t leaving him, after all. She was only telling him that she felt for him what he felt for her.

  He realized he could breathe again. She was in love with him….

  Well, okay. He could live with that.

  Though he hated to think of her suffering as he suffered, at least if she was good and gone on him, it was unlikely she would leave him. If they were lucky, they’d still be together when all this passion crap finally ran its course.

  “It’s okay,” he said grimly. “I’m in love with you, too.”

  Now she was the one gaping. “But…you hardly talk to me anymore.”

  “This state I’m in…” He shrugged. “It’s not real conducive to friendly conversation.”

  She backed up until her legs met the easy chair behind her. Slowly she lowered herself into it. “You’re in love with me…and that makes it hard to talk to me?”

  Why was that so difficult to understand? “Angie. When I’m around you, all I want to do is rip your clothes off and get inside you. And since I’m around you most of the time, my life is pretty much a living hell.”

  “Oh,” she said after a moment. “Well.” Her sweet mouth quivered—as if she couldn’t decide whether to smile or to frown. “A living hell, huh?”

  “All right,” he said gruffly. “That’s a little over the top. Let’s just say it’s distracting. In the extreme.”

  Her smooth brow furrowed. “But in the last couple of weeks, you hardly get near me. We haven’t made love. You don’t even kiss me….”

  So okay. He’d been trying to exercise a little restraint, trying to prove to himself that he could get by without boinking his wife every five minutes. “I keep trying to tell myself that there are other things in life than sex. The only problem is, lately, I don’t give a good damn about any of them.”

  She did smile, then. He watched the dimples appear in her cheeks and wanted to grab her and slam his mouth down on hers. “Well, Brett…”

  “What?” The word came out ragged and low.

  “It just seems so simple to me,” she said sweetly. “We’re married. We love each other. You want me. I want you. We should be doing…what comes naturally.”

  What comes naturally…

  Erotic images flashed through his brain, all of them involving Angie, naked, doing what comes naturally.

  Heat sluiced through him, hardening what he’d been trying to keep limp. He shifted on the sofa cushions. She must have known why. Her gaze slipped down—then shot up again to his face. He watched the warm color sweep up her smooth throat and flood her cheeks.

  Why the hell not?

  This whole abstinence thing wasn’t working, anyway. Keeping away from her wasn’t any better than grabbing her every time the mood struck. True, every time he had her, he only wanted her more. But when he denied himself, all he thought about was the moment when he would give in and take her.

  So it didn’t matter. He could take her at each and every opportunity.

  Or say no. Either way, he would be thinking of her constantly, longing for her all the time.

  At least he felt good when he was making love with her. At least, when he had her in his arms, all was right in his world.

  She rose from the chair with the same slow, graceful care as when she’d lowered herself into it. “Please, Brett…don’t close yourself off from me. Kiss me. Make love to me. I’ve…well, I’ve just missed you so much….”

  All the blood seemed to pool in his groin. His heart beat out a hard rhythm of need.

  And the damn blinds were open….

  She read his mind. “I’ll do it. Stay right there.” She took off, zipping around the great room, tugging on cords.

  He watched her, admiring the shape of her bottom in those white jeans she wore to the clinic, achingly aware of the roundness of her breasts. Even beneath her loose nurse’s tunic, those breasts taunted him.

  In seconds, the room lay in shadow. No one out there could see in.

  It was just the two of them.

  At last.

  She returned to him.

  With great effort, he kept himself from reaching for her. Yet. He commanded in a voice rough with arousal, “Take everything off.”

  She did—fast—kicking off her flat-soled shoes, whipping that tunic over her head, unclasping her bra and shrugging it away. She skimmed down her pants and panties at the same time, crouching to slip them off. Then she rose to her height again, totally naked. Heartbreakingly beautiful.

  He couldn’t stop himself. He reached out.

  With a tiny cry, she caught his hand and pressed it flat against the sleek warmth of her belly. “I want…for us to be okay, you know? To work it out. When we got married, the last thing I ever would have imagined was that there could be distance between us. But now…” She let the sentence die unfinished and she looked at him, pleading for reassurance.

  Her skin was so silky, her breasts so full and tempting, the nipples puckered, ready for his mouth. And he was so hard it hurt. He would have promised her anything at that moment—the moon, the stars—just to go on touching her, to never have to stop. “We will. We’ll be okay.”

  “I don’t know. You say you love me. But you don’t seem all that happy about it.”

  Hadn’t they talked enough for now? It damn well seemed like it to him. He turned his hand, captured hers—and pulled her closer. “Kiss me.”

  She didn’t argue, only bent down to him with a small sigh. He breathed in the fresh scent of her. No woman had ever smelled so fine. Their lips met. Hers parted and he tasted her—the heat and the wetness. The sweetness.

  No one. Ever, had tasted as good as her.

  He needed her closer. He needed to touch her…all over.

  Every beautiful, womanly inch of her.

  He took her shoulders and pulled her down to him, stretching out with her on the sofa, running his hands over the singing curves of her back, taking the twin globes of her bottom, tucking her into him, hard, rubbing himself against her, letting her feel what she did to him.

  She gasped and she whispered his name as she slipped that soft hand of hers between them. Her fingers closed around him.

  He thought he would go over the edge, right then and there, though he still had all his clothes on, though all she’d done was to touch him.

  It was incredible. Unbearable, what she did to him. He only hoped she would never stop. Slowly, she stroked him, taunting him through the barrier of his clothes.

  And when she took his zipper down, he knew he was done for—yet somehow, he held on. He held out, he didn’t lose it, as she freed him from the prison of his boxers and his slacks, as she wiggled down his body and took him in her mouth.

  He put his hands in her silky hair, clutching her head, looking down at her, amazed at the sight of her soft mouth stretched around him, at the feel of it, so hot and wet, of her naughty tongue rubbing, teasing, all along the length of him.

  “I can’t,” he groaned. “I won’t last…�
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  She went still with a low moan. And then she tipped her head back and looked up at him. Her eyes were full of dreams, her wet mouth so soft. She whispered, “Oh, yeah. You can hold on. And you will…” And she bent her head and claimed him again.

  He let out a groan so loud it was close to a shout.

  Making little sighing, hungry sounds, she kept on, holding him in place with her hand at the root, working that mouth of hers up and down the shaft….

  It was too much.

  He was going over.

  “No…” He hardly knew how he got the word out. “Not yet. Come up here…” He grabbed her by the shoulders and dragged her, hard, up his body.

  “Oh, Brett…” Her eyes were glazed, her ragged breath warm against his face.

  He took her mouth in a deep, hungry kiss, groaning his need down low in his throat, spearing his tongue inside, claiming the sweet, slick surfaces beyond her lips, dizzy at the taste of her.

  She pushed at his shoulders, urging him to his back. He went, willingly, starved for the feel of her body closing around him. Then she rose up on her knees above him, thighs spread to either side of him—and she lowered her body down onto him, taking him by slow, unbearable degrees.

  More low groans escaped him, at the wonder, the glory of it.

  Now, he thought in a shattered sort of way. This. Now…

  No frustration now, no disappointment—in himself, in the way his life, his mind, his body, his heart, all of him lately seemed out of his control.

  Now, in the center of this. In the heat and the beauty of it, with his woman above him, her head thrown back, all softness and lush curves, all sweet sighs and hungry cries.

  Now, with the feel of her all around him.

  It was good. It was right.

  “Brett…oh… It’s happening…” She said the words and he felt it, too.

  Felt her, closing around him, tightening as she reached the peak, her sleek inner muscles contracting around him.

  It was too much. It was everything.

  His climax caught fire from hers, rolling through him, a ball of flame, searing every nerve as he pushed himself all the way into her.

  And she took him. Oh, yeah. She took him.