by Helen Lacey
But she didn’t want his integrity or moral code as a companion.
Holly wanted his heart…but she knew deep in her own that Marshall’s heart belonged to another woman.
She rolled over and grabbed the pillow, inhaling the fresh scent of washing powder and was oddly comforted. It was a lovely room, decorated in soft mauve and white and the bed was comfortable. She wondered about Marshall’s room. The one he used to share with his wife. It would contain mementos of his marriage and memory of the woman he loved. Would he think about Lynette when he lay on the big bed? Would he dream about her? Long for her? Would he lay awake and wish that it was Lynette carrying his child, and not her. Would he dream about kissing her lips, touching her skin, filling her with his strong, powerful body?
Of course he would…
Holly’s throat constricted and she cursed the foolishness of her thoughts. Theorizing about Marshall’s dreams was futile and painful.
She inhaled, heard the vague sound of a phone ringing in the distance, sighed again and closed her eyes.
And slept.
It was the sound of a faint knocking that roused her several hours later. She rolled over and listened, hearing Marshall’s deep voice speaking her name. “Yes?” she responded.
“Can I come in?”
She moved into a sitting position. “Sure.”
The door opened and he lingered beneath the threshold, carrying a delicate china mug. “I made you tea,” he explained and moved forward, placing the mug on the bedside table.
Holly put a hand to her head, sure that she looked a treat with her bed hair and smudged mascara. “Thank you. That was very thoughtful.”
Unexpectedly, he sat on the bottom of the bed and the mattress dipped. And he looked at her. Really looked. His chocolate brown eyes were impossible to ignore and she met his gaze.
And then he spoke.
“There’s a great wall between us, isn’t there, Holly?”
She nodded. “Yes.”
He exhaled heavily. “The truth is, I don’t quite know how to behave around you. And it’s confusing. All my life I’ve known exactly who I am…what I am. I’ve always tried to be a good sort of man…honest and upright and being with Lynette helped me be that person. She made it easy. We didn’t fight. We didn’t disagree. We never behaved as though we wanted to kill one another in one moment and kiss one another the next.” He sighed again, heavier, as though he had the weight of the world pushing down on his shoulders. “Earlier you said I was spoiled and in a way, you’re right. First by my parents and then by my wife. And it wasn’t that I didn’t appreciate her—I did. And I tried to never take what we had for granted. But somewhere along the way, I think I did. And then she died…and suddenly I had to redefine who I was.”
Holly’s throat burned. It was the most emotionally raw thing he’d ever said to her.
“Why are you telling me this?”
He touched her leg, almost involuntarily, it seemed, his big hand stroking her calf through the worn denim. “I have to work out how to have a life without her…do you understand? I’m not saying I can’t or won’t. But it will take time.”
Holly was mesmerized by the way he stroked her leg. “And?”
“I think she would have liked you.”
“I’m not sure she would have liked the fact that I’m pregnant by her husband,” she said and pulled her leg away from his touch.
“Well, you wouldn’t be, would you?” he said and got to his feet. “If Lynette was alive we would never have—”
“Slept together,” she said, cutting him off. “No. I don’t sleep with married men.”
“And I was faithful to my wife.”
It was a kind of gridlock. And clarified exactly what they were to one another.
Nothing.
Holly swung her legs off the bed, conscious that the room seemed suddenly smaller with Marshall in it, looking all angst-ridden and annoyed. She looked out the window and saw that is was already dark—and too late for her to demand that he take her home. Coming to his farm suddenly seemed like the worst idea of all time.
“Can we leave early in the morning?” she asked and stood.
“No,” he replied and moved toward the door. “Some friends invited themselves over for brunch. But we can leave early afternoon.”
“What friends?” she asked suspiciously, thinking she didn’t plan on enduring another hour or two like she had with his in-laws earlier that day.
“Nate and Joley Garrigan. Do you mind?”
Her brows rose. “Do I have a choice?”
He shrugged. “You know Nate, right?”
“A little. I’ve been out to Gwendonna a couple of times with Sam. They seem like nice people.”
“They are,” he said easily. “Nate is like a brother to me. And Joley is terrific.” He leaned against the doorframe. “She would make a good friend for you.”
“You’re picking my friends now?”
He shrugged a little. “She’s a good person, I thought you might like her.”
“I do,” Holly said, suddenly cross with him. “I’ve also met her a couple of times. They’ve a young son, correct?”
He nodded. “Yeah, Connor, he’s about eight months old.”
Holly had liked Joley Garrigan the first time they’d met about four months ago. The other woman was also a city-girl transplant and they’d talked for a while about all the things they missed about living near a big city. And then all the things they didn’t. And her very tall, very broad, very handsome husband had been into Sam’s veterinary practice several times picking up medical supplies. Marshall had said he and Nate were like brothers and she believed him. They even looked a bit alike. She liked the Garrigan’s. Too bad they were besties with Marshall Harris.
“Do they know about the baby?’
He nodded. “Nate is my best friend. And it’s not like we can keep it a secret forever, right?”
She shrugged and her stomach growled. “I’m hungry.”
“I’m not surprised,” he said and gave her a disapproving look. “You hardly ate anything at lunch time. Deidre has prepared something, so meet me in the kitchen in ten minutes.”
“Twenty,” she corrected. “I need to freshen up.”
Once he disappeared, Holly took a quick shower in the ensuite bathroom and changed into dark leggings and a long pink T-shirt that had a kitten picture on the front and almost came to her knees. She secured her hair into a messy top knot, thrust her feet in leather slides and left the room.
Marshall was in the kitchen and she heard music coming from a small electronic device on the counter top. He looked up when she entered the room and grinned.
“Cute.”
Holly puffed out the T-shirt. “The start of my maternity wardrobe.”
“I was thinking,” he said as he dished out chicken portions onto plates. “That I should be with you when you tell your family.”
She perched onto a counter stool. “If we do that my father will think we’re a couple. I’d rather my family knows the truth, and not some selective version.”
“Okay, we’ll tell them the truth,” he said with a kind of stiff agreeance she knew was forced. “That you hate me because I’m a selfish, unfeeling bastard. But when you tell them, I would like to be with you.”
Holly didn’t response and changed the subject to something neutral, which was how quickly she could arrange Chester’s transportation from Mulhany Crossing to Marshall’s farm.
“I have a trailer here,” he said and brought their meals around to the table. “I can arrange for Allen to pick him up this week.”
Easy, she thought. He had a solution for everything.
Holly nodded and spent the next ten minutes in silence, eating her food and feeling her resentment rise. It wasn’t that long ago that he’d kissed her in this very room. She hated that she’d missed his kiss so much and had eagerly kissed him back. Even though they were together, sharing a meal, the divide between them seemed insurm
ountable.
“Why me?” she asked bluntly.
He’d finished his meal and pushed the plate away. “What?”
“It’s been over eighteen months since your wife died,” she reminded him softly. “So, why me? I’ve heard the talk…you’re considered something of a catch in town.”
He laughed humorlessly. “I’m not.”
“I know that,” she added. “Which is why I don’t understand why you slept with me. Not that we did a whole lot of sleeping…but you get what I mean.”
“Have you looked in the mirror lately.”
She frowned. “I’m not anything special.”
He actually laughed. “Seriously? You’re beautiful. Surely you know that.”
“So, you were bowled over by my unbelievable good looks and that’s why you slept with me?”
He shrugged a little, looking suddenly uncomfortable. “It’s just chemistry. Sometimes it happens. Sometimes it doesn’t. Say, with that teacher you dated…was there chemistry?”
Holly raised both her brows again. It wasn’t the first time he’d mentioned her dating the teacher. “We went on two dates. Chemistry factor was zero. And I was obviously pining after you the whole time.”
His mouth twisted. “You’re making fun again.”
“Yes,” she replied. “You need to lighten up and stop being so serious.”
“You’re the one who’s always mad with me,” he remarked.
“Because you always act like a stupid jerk.”
Then he laughed. And she laughed. And the mood lightened.
“You know Holly, life with you in it certainly isn’t dull.”
“Is that a compliment?”
He grinned. “Mostly.”
They chatted for a while and then washed and dried the dishes and Marshall made her a mug of herbal tea and then they headed for the living room. He offered to put a movie on, but she had another idea.
“Do you have photo albums?” she asked and dropped onto the sofa. “Family photos, that sort of thing.”
He gave her a quizzical look. “You want to look through old family pictures?”
She shrugged. “I’m naturally curious. You’re my baby’s father, I’d like to know about your family and your history.”
He took a moment, looking at her, as though deciding if it was a good idea. Eventually, he moved across the room and extracted a few albums from the buffet against one wall and then sat down beside her on the sofa, placing all but one of the albums on the coffee table.
They were close, and she flinched when their knees touched. But she didn’t move. There was an obvious intimacy between them in that moment and it wasn’t unpleasant. Holly didn’t know what to think or how to feel. In some secret place, a spot deep in her heart, she knew they could cobble together the beginning of a real relationship if only Marshall could let go of the past. But she didn’t see how that was possible when he continued to tell her how much he loved his wife at every opportunity.
He kept the book on his knees and flipped it open. “My grandparents,” he said of a couple in an old black and white shot. “They were awesome. I miss them a lot.”
Holly went through the pages slowly, asking questions, learning more about him as each page was turned. He told her about the farm, his grandparents and parents, his younger sister. There were pictures of him with his friends, with his horses, with him lounging against the side of his truck when he was a teenager, his hair longer and tousled. There was a lovely shot of him with Lynette, his arm draped companionably over her shoulder. They were young, probably around eighteen, and she was looking up at him and laughing.
Holly’s insides tightened and glanced sideways, trying to gauge his thoughts. But his profile was steady and reserved. “Do you have a wedding album?” she asked quietly.
His head jerked. “I don’t think—”
“Please,” she said quickly, cutting him off and placing a hand on the album. “I’d like to see.”
He took a moment, but eventually grabbed the album from the bottom of the pile. He opened the book slowly and she noticed he swallowed hard as the first few pages were exposed. The invitation. A pressed flower. Mementos of what was obviously the most important day of his life. Holly took a breath and eased the album half onto her leg. Their knees touched, and a jolt of electricity raced up her thigh and landed in her belly. Holly willed the feeling away, cursing the weakness she felt every time he was close. And as she turned the pages she experienced a range of emotions—sadness, regret, compassion and then, as she knew she would, some envy. The photographs were all filled with love and hope and the promise of dreams and happiness to come. Lynette looked radiant in her simple white gown and a few sprigs of baby’s breath in her hair.
“It looked like a happy day,” she said quietly.
“It was,” he said and tugged the album from her hands and then closed it. “We were always happy,” he said and placed the album on the coffee table. “That’s the damnable thing about illness and death, it doesn’t have any prejudice. It takes anyone in its path.”
Holly sighed and shifted back into the sofa, putting space between them. “Thank you for showing me. “
“Has it satisfied your curiosity?” he asked, his eyes darkening.
Holly met his gaze. “About what?”
“My marriage, my wife,” he said and rested one arm along the back of the sofa. “My life.”
Holly shrugged. “It’s no secret that you loved her. That you still love her.”
The room suddenly seemed smaller, the air between them thicker, fueled by a heightened level of awareness. Holly swallowed hard, realizing he’d moved closer to her and that his hand was now curling around her nape.
“What are you doing?” she demanded.
“I don’t know,” he said quietly, stroking the back of her neck and urging her toward him. “But Holly, I do know that if I don’t kiss you right now, I’ll go crazy.”
*****
I’ve lost my mind…
It was all Marshall could think. All he could feel.
But something snapped inside him and suddenly he had to feel Holly’s mouth against his own. Sitting beside her, inhaling the faint scent of fragrance that had somehow become uniquely hers, of hearing her soft voice ask questions about his family and his life, had fueled his desire for her and all he could think about was having her pressed against him.
And she came…willingly.
Marshall wound one arm around her waist and pulled her close until she was half on top of him, her lovely curves pressed against his chest. And he found her lips, kissing her as he’d imagined doing for the past twenty minutes. Her mouth opened and he rolled his tongue around hers, tasting the sweetness of her mouth and lips. He ran one hand along her hip, urging her closer, and he hardened instantly. Only Holly could do that. Only Holly had the power to make him forget everything and everyone and drive him wild with feelings that were a mix of half-desire, half-agony.
She sighed against his mouth and her hands moved to his shoulders, digging in, clinging to him like she couldn’t get close enough. He tore his mouth from hers and kissed a path along her jaw and to the sensitive spot below her ear and her moan fueled his response. The scent of her was intoxicating. The feel of her was suddenly like a tonic he needed for his very existence. The taste of her was like something that was etched into the core of his being. He wanted her beneath him. Around him. He wanted to be inside her until he wasn’t sure when she began and he ended.
“Holly,” he muttered at her throat as one hand moved to her breast. He kissed her again, rolling her tongue around his own in an erotic dance that drove him wild. Her nipple sprang to life through the fabric, the peak hard against his thumb and he plundered her mouth, pushing her T-shirt aside as he cupped underneath, feeling the weight within his palm, experiencing such an acute and powerful sense of desire for her in that moment, he could barely take a breath. He’d never known a feeling like this, never been at the mercy of lust and longing
like he was with Holly. It terrified him. It enraged him. It humbled him. And created a conflict that made Marshall question everything he was. Everything he believed himself to be. Honest. Upright. A man of morals and integrity. A man who had loved the woman he married and who would have remained faithful to her throughout his life.
Until Holly.
Because she was his weakness. His sexual Achilles heel.
And the reason he knew he would have betrayed his wife.
He caught a glimpse of the wedding portrait hanging above the fireplace. And then guilt spread through his blood like a wildfire. Before he could question himself, Marshall wrenched his mouth from hers and sucked in an agonizing breath. He gently pushed her away and stumbled to his feet, dragging mouthfuls of air into his lungs.
She stared up at her, her lips reddened from his kisses, her eyes wide and searching his face for an explanation. “What did I do?”
Marshall ran a hand through his hair. “Nothing. I’m sorry…I shouldn’t have started anything…”
She tugged at her T-shirt and adjusted herself. “Then why did you?”
He shrugged guiltily. “I dunno. I just…I can’t explain it. It doesn’t feel right to start something here. But you were sitting so close and you smell so good and when I’m around you I don’t think straight. I think about—”
“Getting laid,” she said as she stood, cutting him off. “Yes, I know. I’m quite the temptress. Goodnight, Marshall.”
“Holly,” he said as she began to walk toward the door. “Don’t be mad with me. It’s better for us both if we don’t get too involved.”
Her hand automatically rested on her abdomen. “Too late. Just keep your hands to yourself and we won’t have a problem.”
Annoyance, fueled by the unsated desire still churning through blood, snaked up his spine. His resentment was illogical, but he still felt it. “I won’t touch you again.”
“Good,” she offered and left the room.
Marshall stayed where he was for several minutes, trying to get his breathing back to normal. Then he headed to his room and stripped off, conscious that her scent clung to his shirt and he could still taste the sweetness of her mouth on his tongue. He took the coldest shower he could stand and got into bed, spending most of the night staring at the ceiling, caught between agony and anger, mindful that Holly was just down the hall. Resenting her. Lamenting her. And hating himself.