His right hand eased around her shoulder. “If we were alone this minute, I wouldn’t leave you until I’d locked myself inside of you and loved you until we were both exhausted.”
She didn’t see the point in being coy with a meaningless response, for she wanted and needed to explode with him deep inside of her. He gripped her shoulder, and when his eyes became turbulent pools of desire, she knew he’d read her thoughts. She closed her eyes lest she betray herself further, but the pressure of his lips on hers sent a fire spiraling through her nervous system and, like a nail to a magnet, she returned the pressure with open mouth to receive his tongue. His swift, short movement in and out of her brought a moan from her, and he patted her shoulder and released her. She looked up to see a smile on the stewardess’s face.
“Care for a cocktail, wine, liquor? I’ll be along shortly with some stone-crab legs and dipping sauce.” The stewardess winked at Pamela and gave the thumbs-up sign. “Way to go.”
The temptation to down a drink of straight, hard liquor to settle her nerves was difficult to shake. She settled for a Tom Collins, the lightest cocktail she could think of. Drake ordered a Scotch and soda.
“I don’t have to drive until tomorrow morning,” he explained.
“Where’s your car?”
“It’s in the garage underneath the apartment building that Russ lives in.”
We’re fencing again, she thought. If he comes home with me, he’s not leaving there tonight if I can help it. He knows that, so why can’t we level with each other?
She looked at the menu and chose filet mignon with puff potatoes and asparagus. “I definitely wouldn’t have been eating this in economy class,” she said. “In fact, I would have been eating pretzels.”
“I know,” he said. “Salted pretzels at that. When will you visit your parents again?”
At first, the question surprised her. Then it occurred to her that Drake considered his contact with her father unfinished business. Fine with her. She loved them both, and whatever happened was between them. She didn’t intend to take sides unless her father persisted with his insults, and she thought that unlikely.
She finished eating, drank the remainder of the white wine she’d ordered with her meal, leaned against the back of the seat and closed her eyes. Very soon, a pillow slid between her neck and the seat back, and she smiled her thanks. When Drake’s hand clasped hers, she figured that he, too, would go to sleep, and she awakened when the wheels of the big MD 80 touched the earth. She said a silent word of thanks as she always did after a successful flight, and looked over at Drake, still asleep. She let her hand brush the side of his face, and he opened his eyes.
“We’re in Baltimore,” she said. “I slept all the way, and that’s unusual for me, so it must have been the effect of the cocktail and the wine.”
“Couldn’t have been the comfort of my presence, could it?” he asked her with a roguish grin on his face. “Give a guy a break. I know I don’t weave a magical spell, but it wouldn’t hurt you to say I do.”
She stared at him, not believing what she’d heard. “Honey, you’ve got powers enough. You don’t need magic.”
They left the plane, retrieved their luggage at the baggage claim and, with the aid of a porter, found a taxi and headed into town.
“I’ll take my things to Russ’s apartment. You continue home in the taxi, and I’ll see you at seven-thirty at your place. All right?”
She agreed, and plans for their evening began weaving themselves together in her head.
After leaving him, she went home, turned on the air conditioner, unpacked and headed for the gourmet deli, where she bought smoked sturgeon, smoked salmon, fresh salad greens, sautéed red, yellow and green peppers, Greek olives, Stilton cheese, crusty bread and assorted petit fours. Then, she stopped in a florist shop and bought flowers. At home, she put two bottles of Pinot Grigio wine in the refrigerator, set the table, added the flowers and candles, laid out the food and looked around for something to put on—something that would let him know that they were not going out. After a bubble bath, she slipped into a pair of pink bikini panties and a long, flowing, mauve-pink paisley dress that had a halter top.
After combing her hair down, she put on a pair of gold hoop earrings and stared at herself in the mirror. “I’m not beautiful, and I don’t care who says so, but nobody can say I don’t have sex appeal. If he doesn’t hurry up and get here, I won’t have a fingernail left.” She told herself to be casual and nonchalant, and then her buzzer rang.
“Mr. Harrington to see you, ma’am.”
“Thanks, Mike. Ask him to come up.” She walked to the door, back through the foyer to the living room, turned and went into the dining room. There, she patted the tablecloth, checked the wineglasses for lint, found none and walked back to the foyer. When she realized she was ringing her hands, she locked them behind her. The doorbell rang, and she lunged toward a chair, tripped up and grabbed the edge of the door for support. With the second ring, she ran her hands over her hair, walked slowly to the door and opened it.
“Hi. Come on in.” She ignored his raised eyebrow and the brief impression of his tongue pressing his right cheek. “Thanks for these beautiful roses. I love tea roses.” He walked in, and she closed the door, conscious of the fact that she’d put him off balance. Whatever he was expecting, it definitely was not what he found.
“Have a seat in there.” She pointed toward the living room. “I’ll be back as soon as I put these in some water.”
“I don’t think they need any,” he said, the first sound he’d made since he rang the doorbell. “They’re in a vase inside that box.”
My Lord, I shouldn’t be so obvious, she thought. He looked at me half-nude in this dress and practically went into shock, and then I act as if I’m unbalanced. Get your act together, girl. She took the vase out of the box, removed her flowers from the table and replaced them with his. How was she going to walk into that living room knowing he knew from her backless dress that she wasn’t wearing a bra? She sucked air through her teeth and held her head high. What the hell! I’m thirty years old, and I dress as I please.
As she entered the living room, she picked up the remote from a table near the door, pressed a button and strains of “Sophisticated Lady” filled the air.
“You like Duke Ellington’s music, I see.”
“I do, indeed,” she said, “plus Wynton Marsalis, George Harrison and Willie Nelson, and some other truly great ones.”
He crossed his left knee over his right one. “Three out of four isn’t bad.”
“Who would you leave off?”
“Well, I guess Marsalis is okay, but I can’t identify him by sound, and that means he’s not unique. I love the Beatles, and George Harrison’s music is identifiable as his own. The Duke and Willie are American icons. I like music that I can sing.”
“But you don’t sing,” she said.
A grin spread over his face. “Who told you that? Take it back, or I’ll throw you down on this carpet and have my way with you.”
She stared at him, but he didn’t bat an eyelash. The longer she looked at him, the more amusing the idea became, until laughter rolled out of her like thunder heralding a storm.
“I’d like to know why that’s so funny.”
“Instead of throwing me down on the floor, say what you really want, and perhaps you can use that energy to better effect.”
“What?”
Her left eyelid flexed in a fast wink, and she stood. “Let’s have a bite to eat. I know we ate on the plane, but that was almost six hours ago.” She held out her hand. “Come on.”
“I had planned for us to go out to dinner.”
“I imagined as much. I hope you didn’t make reservations.”
“I did, but I’m happy to cancel them.” He followed her into the dining room, talking to the hostess at the restaurant on his cell phone as he walked. “It’s all settled. When did you do all this?”
“I’m a well-organize
d woman. By the time I got home, I had everything straight in my mind. The rest was simple. Have a seat.” She lit the candles.
“This is a beautiful setting. I like this, Pamela. I enjoy attractive surroundings that have a feminine touch. I don’t want it in my personal sanctuary, but everywhere else in the house should feel and look like a home. That’s what Alexis brought to our house. She made it into a charming home.” He held her hand and said grace, surprising her, for saying grace was not a custom in her parents’ home.
He savored the smoked sturgeon. “This is delightful.”
“One of these days, I’ll cook you a real dinner.”
“Name the day. Telford and Russ got themselves good cooks, but I figured it would be my luck to get a woman who didn’t know a sack of flour from a bag of cornmeal.”
Did he know what he’d just said? She told herself not to hope, but she hoped anyway, saying a silent prayer that Drake would, after all, be the father of her children. She wasn’t going to trick him into it, and she had no intention of trying to strike a deal with him. She loved him, and he said he loved her. If it worked, it worked. If not, she would go ahead with her plan to adopt a child.
“My father insisted that I learn how to take care of myself,” she said, opting not to respond directly to his remark. “I had to learn how to clean the house properly, sew my own clothes, iron like a professional, do my own hair, cook and serve an elegant meal. He thought if I could do that, I could always get a job, take care of myself and never be beholden to a man, husband or not. And of course, he preached the virtues of education.”
“Too bad more young girls don’t get that advice. Hmm. This food hits the spot. What kind of work does your mother do?”
“She teaches. Would you like fruit or ice cream for dessert?”
He grinned, dazzling her with his charm and boyish innocence. “If that’s the only dessert you’re offering, I guess I’ll take ice cream.”
She’d been standing beside him, reaching for his empty plate, when she stumbled against his chair, but she gathered her composure quickly and let him know that she could give as good as she got. With a pinch of his ear, she said, “You’ll get what you deserve.”
In the kitchen, she poured Scotch whiskey over scoops of rich vanilla ice cream and brought two bowls of it back to the dining room. He tasted it, and his brow knit as if he was concentrating deeply. He took in another spoonful and leaned back in his chair, savoring it. A grin around his lips spread into a smile that enveloped his face, and she couldn’t help staring at him. Did she dare cast her lot with such a devastatingly handsome man?
“Don’t tell me you put whiskey on this ice cream. I’m never going to eat it any other way. It’s great.”
“I told you you’d get what you deserved,” she said, shoving the needle in and turning it.
“You mean this is all I’m worth?” he asked her with a note of resignation in his voice.
“I didn’t know we were talking about your worth. I thought the issue was what you deserve. Would you like some more?”
“Thanks, but no. Let’s clean up.” She gaped at him—elegant in a gray business suit, light gray shirt and gray-and-red paisley tie—scraping dishes, rinsing them and putting them into the dishwasher, wrapping leftovers and turning on the dishwasher. He was so adept at it that she sat on the bar stool at her kitchen window and watched him.
“You’re handy in the kitchen,” she said.
“You bet, and I can cook, too. Henry taught me and my brothers how to prepare food and to cook basic things. He works for us, but he’s been a father to us since our father died when I was fourteen. I was devastated, and if it hadn’t been for Henry, I don’t know what would have become of me. As long as I’m alive, I’ll see that he has the best of everything.”
She had a feeling that he’d been warning her all weekend that loving him meant loving his family and that Henry was as much a part of it as were his brothers and their wives. She handed him a bottle of white wine and two glasses, switched off the kitchen light, took his hand and went to the living room, where she sat on the sofa and patted the space beside her.
“What kind of music do you want to hear?” He said he’d leave it up to her, and she flipped the remote control to her Billie Holiday CDs. Soon Billie’s world-weary soprano came forth with “Love Me or Leave Me.” She had intended to play “I Cover the Waterfront,” but maybe fate was telling them both something.
With an arm on the back of the sofa, he adjusted his position so as to face her. “Are you telling me something with that song? I thought we’d passed that stage.”
“It was a slip of my finger.”
“If it was a slip of your finger, open up to me and let me know you have confidence in me, that you feel that I love you. I don’t play games with women, and I’m not playing one with you. If you can’t take me for what I am, a man who loves you and needs you and who has no hidden agenda, tell me this second, and you won’t have any further trouble out of me. I am not a masochist. It will hurt, but I won’t let it kill me.”
Chapter 8
“All the past weeks and months when I didn’t know where I stood with you, each time we separated I thought I had seen you for the last time. Every time you held me and kissed me, showing me in numerous ways that I needed you and then leaving me to deal with the emptiness, knowing that if you came back I’d take those few minutes of loving only to be empty again when you left me. I hurt, Drake. I hurt something awful. And I’ll tell you something else—my lectures to myself went unheeded because you would do so many things, little things that made me care. Don’t think for a minute that, except to save myself, I would inflict that on anyone else.”
He leaned forward, resting his forearms on his thighs. “And I’m asking for what I didn’t give?”
“You gave all that you could and as much truth as you knew. I respected you for it then, and I respect you for it now. It isn’t an issue.”
He straightened up, and she rested her head against his shoulder. “I do have a bone to pick with you though.”
“What’s that?”
She looked at her watch. “An hour and eighteen minutes have elapsed since you rang that doorbell, and I’m still waiting for a kiss. I’d like a glass of wine, too.”
His sheepish look surprised her. “Damned if I’m not losing panache.” He poured each of them a glass of wine, took a sip and rested his glass on the table in front of them. “This isn’t what I need. Come here to me,” he said, his voice husky and laced with a faint tremor.
He opened his arms, and she dived into them with no thought for the nonchalance she had planned to display. The minute his fingers touched her naked back, a fire began to glow in her loins. As she parted her lips for the feel of his tongue, her one thought was that he was hers at least for the night. He brushed his lips over her parted ones, gazed down into her face—his eyes fierce and burning—and then claimed her with the thrust of his tongue. She took him in, feasting as if she were near starvation. Jolts of electricity whistled through her veins as he sampled every crevice of her mouth. His hands roamed over her naked flesh, and then his arm curved around her back and his hand squeezed her breast.
“Oh, Lord,” she moaned. “Yes. Yes. Kiss me. Kiss me. You know what I want.” He moved his hand and slipped it into the dress’s deep V opening at her bosom and freed her left breast. Her nipple puckered beneath the air of his hot breath, and then his warm, moist mouth covered it and he sucked it, and her world spun off its axis. Her groan of passion echoed through the room.
“Drake. Oh, Drake!”
“Tell me what you want. What you need, baby. Tell me.”
“I want you. You!”
His big hand gripped her hip and then stroked it, kneaded her belly and moved back to twirl and tease her nipple. “Honey, please. Please,” she moaned.
“Please what? Tell me. I want to please you, t—”
She reached out and touched him tentatively, as if she feared doing it. Embolde
ned by his gasp, she gripped him, and she could feel the hot male in him breaking loose. Her fingers tightened and squeezed. Then she stroked him, and in a second, he was iron-hot, hard and bulging in her grasp. He stilled her hand and stared into her face.
Drake’s senses whirled dizzily, and spirals of unbearable tension wafted through his body. The feel of her nipple in his mouth made him shudder as he thought of where that one sweet liberty could lead. Her body began an uncontrollable response to his sucking, letting him know that she was his if he wanted to press his advantage. But he had to slow down, for unless he controlled his passion he wouldn’t be able to satisfy her completely, and he’d never left a woman wanting. But as if of their own volition, his lips moved back to her nipple because he loved what he found there. He didn’t spare her then, but sucked vigorously, nourishing himself on her sweetness, relishing knowing that she was on the verge of losing control. Then her gentle, unschooled fingers stroked his penis, and he nearly sprang from the sofa.
“Sweetheart. My Lord, woman!” It felt so good. So good. His moans blended with hers, and he sprang into her hand, hard and ready. But because he had to be certain, he stilled her hand and gazed intently into her eyes.
“I want to make love with you. I’ve wanted and needed it for months,” he said, hardly recognizing his voice. “Do you want me?” She nodded. “Now? Say the words, because I’m nearing the point of no return.”
“I want to make love with you right now,” she said. “Oh, Drake. Honey, don’t you know how much I need you?”
“Where is your bedroom?” She pointed to the hallway, and he picked her up and strode through the darkened hall straight to her bed, laid her on it and looked down at the woman he loved.
He pulled the halter over her head, found the zipper at her waistline and removed her dress, leaving her body bare but for the string-bikini panties that covered the V at the apex of her thighs. Beneath his heated gaze, she folded her arms across her breasts.
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