by Nina Pierce
“Peter, he’s going to be alright, isn’t he?” Meghan buried her face in his shoulder. The silk of her hair was soft against his cheek, the warm scent of her shampoo replacing the industrial smell of disinfectant. “How many heart attacks can his body withstand?”
Peter had no idea.
He wondered himself how much fight John Tilling had in him. In the eight years he’d known the man, he’d never seen him so weak. It was like the life force was being sucked out of the man and no medicine or doctor seemed to be able to restore the brilliant zest for life that used to brighten his eyes. It was one of the many things Meghan had gotten from her father.
Peter still remembered the first time he’d seen her in the quadrangle at the University of Maine, walking toward him with the classmate who eventually hooked them up. Her eyes were as green as the pool table at the frat, and he couldn’t make his mouth work for the spell they cast on him.
“Hey, Meggie,” Julie called quietly. “They said we could go in for five minutes. You know the drill.”
They all knew the drill.
Alice and her daughters would tag team in and out of the ICU, while their men supported them from the sidelines of the waiting room. Meghan left with her sister, leaving the three men alone in the small room.
“Think he’s going to make it?” Peter asked the question weighing on everyone’s heart.
“John’s strong.” Ayden turned from the window where he stood. “I’d put money on him.”
“Doc McCarty didn’t look happy with Alice at the house when she told the ambulance to bring him here,” said Damon from the wing back chair.
“Alice can be stubborn,” Peter said. “She didn’t back down when Doc argued.”
“Apples don’t fall far from that tree.” Damon rolled the empty Styrofoam cup in his hands.
“I hear that.” Ayden laughed. “Seems they’re in agreement that John’s better off at this hospital and not in Delmont.”
“Hard to argue when he bounced back this summer after being here in Bangor.” said Peter.
“Doc doesn’t have privileges here,” Damon said. “Doesn’t Alice worry about continuity of care? I mean, Doc can’t do anything but make recommendations here. He could at least continue to treat him in Delmont.”
“Not our call.” Ayden poured himself another cup of black sludge from the pot in the corner. “Alice has other ideas about John’s care. It’s all that matters.”
“Just surprises me. It seems like Doc’s the one holding Alice together these days.” Peter said. “I see his car at the house many nights on my way home.”
“He’s a good friend.” said Ayden.
“Doesn’t matter what we think.” Unable to remain still, Peter got up and paced. “The girls will all support Alice whatever she decides.”
“They’re a close family.” Damon took Ayden’s place at the window.
“Ever wish you had that?” Peter asked.
“Have what?” asked Ayden.
Peter met his confused gaze. “You know, their sense of family.”
Damon looked thoughtful for a beat. “Been there. Done that. Have the emotional scars to prove it. Cheating mother. Alcoholic father. Didn’t make for a happy home. I’m good calling Julie’s family my own.”
“I’m with Damon. My family was great, for a cop’s family. My brother and I were pretty well-adjusted.” Ayden shrugged. “Not like I can bring them back.” He sipped thoughtfully before continuing. “Not sure where I’d be if I hadn’t hooked up with Deirdre. John and Alice took me in.”
“I feel the same.” Damon slapped Peter on the shoulder. “Hell, with this family, we’re practically considered brothers don’t you think?”
Peter couldn’t answer. Emotional connections, no matter how strong, could never replace blood relations. And he had every intention of rectifying that situation.
* * * *
Peter wasn’t sure what to do for Meghan after the horrendous weekend she’d just endured.
First the episode with the cooler, which still knotted his stomach with guilt, then the death of her beloved cat and today she’d had some argument with Deirdre that had brought tears, but no explanation. Now her father lay in the ICU, fighting for his life yet again. Yeah, sucky didn’t quite cover his fiancée’s life at the moment.
Meghan dragged herself out of the car in the garage and through the door Peter held open. Stepping up into the breezeway and into the kitchen seemed an almost insurmountable task for her. At least he’d gotten the garage door to work, and she wasn’t schlepping through the freshly fallen snow.
Another winter storm had rolled in somewhere around midnight, accumulating several inches an hour, making the forty-minute drive from Bangor a treacherous one. Thank goodness her mother had agreed to ride back to Delmont with them. Alice was tucked in safely at home down the street. Deirdre and Ayden had gone home an hour ahead of them, leaving Julie and Damon, because their apartment was so close to the hospital, to take the first vigil at John’s bedside.
Absently, Meghan slipped out of her winter gear and threw it over the back of a dinette chair. Slumping into the seat, she looked like every cell of her body had been drained of energy.
“Babe, can I get you something to eat?” Peter walked across the kitchen and stuck his head in the refrigerator. “We’ve got eggs, bagels, leftover soup.”
“It’s three o’clock in the morning, Peter. How can you think about food?” A weak laugh escaped her lips. “I’m too tired to eat, but help yourself. I’m just going to take a shower and wash off the hospital before falling into bed.” Instead of standing, she laid her forehead on the table. “I should be able to get several hours of sleep before heading over to open the shop.”
Peter abandoned his quest and came up behind her, rubbing at the knots in her shoulders. “I think the good citizens of Delmont would understand if you didn’t open the shop today. There’s no doubt word has already made it around town that your father’s in the hospital.”
Turning her head to look at him, Meghan’s eyes filled with tears. “What if…”
“Don’t, Meggie.” Peter knelt beside her and cupped Meghan’s face in his hands, his thumb brushing a tear from her cheek. “Your dad’s a stubborn man. He’s pulled through before, he’ll do it again.”
“I just don’t know what I’ll do if he doesn’t.” Her voice trailed off.
Peter pulled her tight to his chest, protecting his own shattering heart. John had been the only father figure he’d known. His only memory of his mother centered on his fourth birthday, party balloons, and a bike. Shortly after that he’d been placed in state custody. His mother had never shaken her drug addiction long enough to regain permanent custody. Though he’d always believed she would come for him, her death when he was ten sealed his fate. He’d come back to Maine in search of the happy memories of his childhood and found love in Meghan.
“Hey, where are you?” Meghan’s finger trailed along his brow.
“Nowhere.” He stood and pulled her with him. No sense hashing over a past he couldn’t change. “Let’s get you to bed.”
“How about you climb in the shower with me?”
“Meghan.” The word came out on a husky breath. As exhausted as they both were, desire sparked in her eyes, and the heat shot straight to his groin. How had he ever doubted that she was enough? His lips came down softly on hers, the contact gentle but filled with unspoken hunger.
He swept her into his arms, cradling her against him, her cheek pressed over his heart. He carried her past the bed they shared, where she satisfied every part of him. He set her down, kissing her tenderly, her mouth hungry and eager for him. There would be no bondage tonight. No spanking or sex toys. Just sighs of pleasure and sweet caresses. As he pulled the T-shirt over her head and bent to kiss the luscious curve of her breast, he marveled at the many sexual personas of his fiancée; insatiable tigress, wanton sex-slave, and alluring angel. All his—whenever he wanted.
“I love you,
Meghan.” He sighed the declaration into her ear. He didn’t need to say it out loud. His hands roaming her body communicated it so much better, but the emotions bursting from his heart required a voice.
“I love you too.” Reaching behind her, Meghan turned on the shower.
Peter removed her bra as her fingers deftly worked the buttons of his shirt. It was a primal ballet that they had perfected over the years, each move intended to excite and tease while satisfying the incredible need for flesh to heat flesh.
He was hard and ready when Meghan slid his jeans to the floor. The silky heat of her hand running the length of his shaft elicited a mutual groan of desire. She stepped away from him, the corner of her mouth and one eyebrow lifting in invitation as she stepped into the steamy heat of the shower.
Peter couldn’t have resisted that look if he’d wanted. He stepped in behind her, pulling her tight against him, the rush of sexual heat flashing through his veins, adding warmth to the water trailing over his body. His mouth fused with hers, their tongues tangling and teasing. Meghan tasted of mint and something totally her own, and Peter’s head spun with the dizzying need to drink in all of her.
Without breaking contact, Meghan poured shampoo into her hands and lathered his hair, her fingers masterfully massaging away the stress of the day. The suds slid over his shoulders and down his back, coating them both in a slippery sheen. His hands followed the contours of her torso, up over her hips to her narrow waist, and settled on her breasts. She moaned as his thumbs teased the pearled peaks. Bending her back, he let the water rinse away the last of the shampoo and expose her beautiful breasts. His mouth traveled over her chin and down the curve of her neck, stopping to scrape his teeth along the sensitive pulse at the base of her neck before suckling her steepled nipple.
Meghan murmured his name, digging her fingers into his hair, arching her back, her body begging him to suckle and tease the sensitive flesh. One arm held her as she melted against his assault. The other hand slid over her quivering muscles, stroking the flame of her desire until the spark of heat in her eye had become a full blown wildfire consuming them both.
He turned her, leaned over her back, pressing into her, reveling in the silken warmth of her channel fisted around his cock. The need for release pulsed through him, and he pumped his hips in time with the rhythm. Meghan trembled in his hands, her muscles taut.
Peter continued the leisurely assault on her body, the sublime push and pull of flesh against flesh driving them higher. Meghan begged him to increase the tempo, but he controlled the pace, drawing out their bliss until their bodies trembled on the edge of release.
Meghan’s internal muscles clenched, pulling him impossibly deeper. Her body tensed, her back arching into him as her climax ripped through her. Her cries of pleasure rose with the steam filling the bathroom.
Electric shocks of pleasure sparked along his nerves. Ecstasy filled him and Peter tumbled with her into the sacred abyss of release. He lost himself in her, a feral cry of satisfaction ripping from his throat. His heart pounded in his chest and swelled with love.
He held Meghan until her body no longer shuddered, whispering sweet words of endearment, wondering how he ever could have questioned their relationship.
He didn’t need anyone else. Meghan’s unconditional love and that of her family were enough for him. Ayden and Damon had echoed that sentiment.
Today would mark the end of his quest to find something more.
Chapter 8
Silence echoed through the house. Though no one else was home, Meghan felt an odd sense of expectancy hanging in the air. She figured it was just loneliness. Four days had passed since she found her cat dead on the backstairs and still she wasn’t used to the quiet that came with his loss.
Peter had left for the hospital without her this morning. She hadn’t gone into the shop yesterday, but there were too many holiday deliveries for the weekend to skip out another day. She was missing her usual snuggle time with Mr. Jingles. The cat had been spoiled for sure, but without him mewling for his breakfast, Meghan could hardly stand the eerie feeling of her home. Perhaps it had more to do with the weight of worry on her heart, but she was finding it hard to get herself motivated this Tuesday morning.
On a heavy sigh, she shrugged into her coat, gathered her purse and gloves, and headed to the garage, her keys jingling in her hand. Peter had put the Volvo in the garage late on Saturday. At least she didn’t have to deal with defrosting the windshield.
The chill of December slammed into her the moment she stepped through the door from the breezeway into the garage and Meghan snuggled deeper into her parka. Sliding behind the steering wheel, she started the car and turned the heater up full blast, hoping to push away the cold enveloping her.
The CD player blared out the guitar riff of a Guns and Roses song, and Meghan huddled in the front seat, listening to the opening lines. Their haunting strains talking of childhood brought back memories of her father in a younger and healthier body. The hot fire of sadness burned in her throat and she gave into the tears for the first time since her father had collapsed. For a few minutes she let herself wallow in frustration and self pity for the illness and the loss of the man she’d come to think of as indestructible.
As the final screaming questions pounded out of the speakers, Meghan blotted her face with a tissue from her purse and absently pushed the remote for the garage door. Nothing. She pressed it again, pulling the small device from the visor and banging on the button. Still nothing. Flinging it to the floor, she stomped out of the car, slamming the door in frustration.
Tipping up on her toes, Meghan reached for the power box above her car. Peter had told her to jiggle it and try again. It took several attempts before she maneuvered herself enough to rattle the damn metal box.
“Work, you stupid thing,” she yelled. Satisfied, she’d gotten it working, Meghan pulled on the door handle, intent on getting in the car, but the handle slipped from her grip. Another try confirmed she’d locked herself out of the Volvo. “Like I needed another thing to make this sucky day suckier.” She walked around the car, finding all the doors locked. Kicking the tire did nothing to quell the anger coiled in her belly, but did manage to bruise her toe.
Limping to the kitchen door, intent on grabbing the spare keys on the hook in the breezeway, she grabbed for the knob and found it locked as well.
“What the hell?” She pounded on the door and yelled in frustration. Then grabbed the handle and began shaking it with no results. She sat down heavily on the stoop. Well, at least it wasn’t cold and dark like the floral cooler. Amend that. Cold, but not dark.
How the hell had she gotten into this mess? Checking her watch, she realized Peter would be at the hospital with her father. Calling him and asking him to get her out of this mess would mean explaining how she’d locked herself out of the car and in the garage. Better to call Dee. Meghan fished in her pockets for her cell, but found nothing. Fear clawed her throat, making her cough—her phone hadn’t been in its usual spot on the kitchen counter this morning. With the craziness that had become her life, she figured she’d left it at the shop.
Nothing to worry about—she was safe. She coughed again, choking on dust. Then it hit her.
The Volvo was still running.
* * * *
Peter’s loafers clicked along the hospital corridor carrying him to the Acute Care Unit. The ACU was a step up from ICU with no visitation restrictions. Hopefully, someone would figure out what was wrong with the man he’d come to love like a father. John needed to get well. He had a lot of people depending on him.
“Good morning.” Peter slipped into the room and kissed Julie’s cheek. This was the second day in a row they’d played out this routine. They all were taking shifts sitting with John.