That'll Be the Day

by Kress, Alyssa

  He grew very still then. His eyes became twin dark blazes, pinning her to the bed. "Do I think it's wise?"

  "Exactly. Do you?"

  Ian took two vigorous strides. He reached the bed and bent over Maggie.

  She rolled onto her back, retreating—or perhaps submitting. Looking up at him, at the leashed male power in his eyes, his jaw, his whole, fantastic body, she wasn't sure if she were more afraid of him, or lusting after him.

  "Maggie," he said in a low growl. "I don't think it's wise. I think it's imperative."

  He leaned down and kissed her. This wasn't an affectionate peck. It was a claim, a takeover, a clear and thorough vanquishing of all Maggie's senses. It was a potent reminder of what had just been. For a moment she was taken back into the world of pleasure and need.

  Ian's eyes were closed as he came up from the kiss. "I'll call you tomorrow," he said and turned. He grabbed his shirt off the floor and walked out of the room.

  ~~~

  Nice kiss.

  Ian was still humming inside as he walked out Maggie's front door and vaulted over her front stoop. There was a chill in the air and the streetlights cast cold fluorescent circles on the street. The streetlights, the concrete curb, the scrubby native plants in Maggie's front yard—it all looked beautiful to Ian, heavenly.

  He whistled the opening bars of "Isn't She Lovely," as he opened his car door. Making love to Maggie had been all, and more, than he'd ever dreamed. Ian did an exuberant push-up against the side of the car, then climbed in.

  It occurred to him, fleetingly, that he'd just made love to Sophia's sister, but any guilt this might have inspired simply wouldn't take hold. He'd been faithful to Sophia while she'd been alive, in both body and heart. But she had no need for that kind of faith any more. And Ian, finally, had no more need to give it to her. He felt utterly free, liberated...turned on.

  Grinning and whistling again, Ian stuck his key in the ignition. He turned over the motor and listened to its power with satisfaction. It reminded him of Maggie, the thoroughly responsive, confident purr of power. Ian rested his hands on the steering wheel and closed his eyes. He allowed himself to relive the whole thing, the way she'd melted and then charged to life. Was there a woman on earth who was such a compelling mixture of strength and femininity?

  Not a chance.

  Ian felt his smile fade. Maggie was special to him, yes, he wasn't going to deny it. Nor would he deny exactly how special. It went a long way beyond mere sexual attraction at this point. He was...really into her. Infatuated. The car motor continued to growl as Ian stared out the windshield. His smile turned into a sober line.

  Okay, okay, he was in love with her.

  Ian shifted the car into reverse. He checked behind him as he backed out of Maggie's driveway. Was it so bad to be in love with Maggie? he asked himself. She was intelligent, strong, and already loved his kids. She was emotionally and intellectually challenging, and he'd just found out she was hell on wheels in bed.

  So why was he feeling this cold rain of fear drizzle onto his euphoria?

  Ian shifted into forward and started driving. Is it wise? she'd asked. Is it wise? He shook his head at the road. How could she ask that? Hadn't she felt what he had? Hadn't she felt...the connection, the symbiosis, the give-and-take strength of it all?

  Apparently not.

  But then again— He remembered the flustered expression on her face when he'd come back from the bathroom. She'd felt some of that emotion. She'd felt a lot of it. Hey, hadn't she even said so?

  Ian blinked when the light he'd stopped at turned green. What was the cross street here? Was he at Broadway yet? Lord, he was distracted.

  Or was that worried?

  But Maggie was feeling everything he was, Ian told himself as he turned left onto Broadway. He was sure of it. It's just that she was scared. She'd never been this affected by sex. She'd probably never been this affected by a man, period. She probably figured being this into one would affect her precious independence.

  Ian sucked in his lips and plowed down Broadway. She probably figured right. Being in a relationship, a real relationship, meant losing a certain degree of independence and trading it in for something stronger. He suspected Maggie wouldn't like that idea.

  Fear was a quick thrust in his gut. Ian tightened his hands on the steering wheel and made a concentrated effort to keep his car on the road. He told himself not to panic. Maggie wasn't going to like the idea of losing independence—at first. But she'd get used to it. As he kept after her, kept showing her how good things could be, she'd lose her fear. She'd start to see the other side of the equation.

  All he had to do was remain persistent. Maggie loved him. She just...hadn't figured it out yet. She was probably afraid to figure it out. But she loved him.

  Ian felt another thrust of fear in his gut. Yeah, sure she loved him. Or was he, as he'd done at work earlier, just pretending again?

  CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO

  Maggie woke up feeling like a stone that had been dead for a million years.

  "God," she muttered, and stretched out a hand from beneath the covers to shut off her buzzing alarm clock. Was it really morning already? "God," she muttered again, and put her hand up to her forehead. How could she be waking up when she was certain she'd gotten no sleep at all last night? Zero.

  By sheer effort of will, Maggie dragged herself to a sitting position. "It was a dream, right?"

  But how could that madness she'd done with Ian be a dream when she hadn't slept enough to dream?

  "Okay, okay." Maggie scrunched her eyes closed and pressed her hand harder against her forehead. "It was real." Indeed, she could easily remember every moment of it, not that she wanted to. How thoroughly she had lost herself!

  Shuddering, Maggie opened her eyes and tossed aside the sheets. Last night had been a mistake, she assured herself. Every woman was allowed one amazing, utterly regrettable mistake. She pushed herself out of bed, continuing the pep talk. She could recover from the mistake. It hadn't been irreversible. She could take a shower, go into work, and pretend she had not submitted in any way to Ian Muldaur.

  As for this idea she was going to see him again on Friday, that they might spend the entire night together—well, she would set him straight about that. They couldn't get together that way ever again, not if she valued her independence—and she did! She didn't want to lose herself, didn't want to turn into a woman like her mother without a thought in the world of her own. Her whole life she'd combated such a fate. She'd wrestled her way through enough fights with her father to have supposed she'd won the battle.

  But as Maggie stumbled into the shower and stood under the spray, she wondered if she had won, after all. Fear sifted through her. Last night...

  Maggie shook her head sharply. Last night had been—one time. One time only. She would not allow Ian to become a threat to her.

  The telephone was ringing when Maggie got out of the shower. She paused in the act of wrapping one of her deep red, Turkish towels around herself. Who would be calling her at—she squinted at her watch sitting on the sink countertop—at seven-thirty in the morning?

  Unfortunately, she had a good idea of who. I'll call you tomorrow, Ian had said, just as he was leaving.

  A nervous flutter went through Maggie's stomach. He was on the phone.

  I won't get it. She squeezed the towel tighter around her breasts. The answering machine can take the call.

  The phone chirped again. Maggie opened the door of the bathroom. At that point, her limbs took on a will of their own. She found herself floating over to the side of her bed, to the night table where the telephone sat. Just as the phone started to ring again, she picked it up. Perching on the edge of her bed, she took in a shaky breath and said, "Hello?"

  "Good morning, beautiful." Ian's voice rumbled in her ear. It seemed to rumble right through her, crashing through her defenses.

  "It is you," Maggie replied, and realized she was smiling. Smiling!

  "I hope y
ou weren't expecting anybody else to call at this hour," Ian laughed.

  "No. Nobody else would be so rude."

  Ian laughed again, but with a deeper tenor. "I wanted to surprise you... So tell me, what are you wearing right now?"

  Maggie felt a flush spread over her entire body. Gone, utterly departed, was any idea she shouldn't even be talking to Ian, let alone encouraging him. "Nothing," she said. "That is, nothing that would interest you."

  "You have no idea," Ian said, low.

  Excitement skittered over Maggie's nearly naked skin. She remembered the way Ian's hands had moved over that skin. She almost felt as if he were moving his hands over her right then. "Don't," she said, but didn't sound too serious about it.

  "Don't what? Get you as turned on as I already am?" Ian laughed. "Forget it. Misery loves company."

  Maggie fingered the edge of her towel. "Oh, are you miserable?"

  "That depends. What are you wearing?"

  Maggie smiled. "Oh, it's a very thick, positively non-see-through towel."

  "A towel?" There was a pause on the other end of the line. "And I suppose you have it fastened with a little tuck up at the top."

  "Mm. Yeah."

  "The kind of little tuck it would just take a flick of my fingers to undo?"

  Maggie's smile deepened. "Well...yeah."

  Ian uttered a low oath. "I don't know if I can wait until Friday."

  Maggie closed her eyes. "I know what you mean." And she did. Her body felt shivery with need.

  Ian swore again. "Listen, I'll call you later, and I'll make it a polite call. No innuendoes, I promise." He made a garbled sound. "That sort of thing only makes waiting all the harder."

  "Okay," Maggie said sweetly. "I'll talk to you later."

  After a heavy pause, Ian hung up.

  Still buzzing with the effects of the call, Maggie replaced her own receiver. She sat there a moment on the edge of her bed, wrapped in her towel and smiling stupidly.

  It took a while for the smile to fade, for reality once again to reenter her brain. She'd just accepted a phone call from Ian. Had she told him the truth? Had she laid down the law, that there'd be no more of this—whatever this was?

  Maggie swallowed and stood up on stiff legs. No. She most certainly had not. She'd gone crazy again. She'd heard the sound of his voice, and her brain had gone AWOL.

  "I am a doormat," Maggie said out loud. She put her arms out to her sides. "A complete and utter doormat." The man crooked his finger, and she did his bidding. She was supposed to have told him they needed to cool down this relationship. Instead, she'd practically engaged in phone sex. She'd said she was looking forward to Friday, that she was looking forward to it!

  "What am I doing?" Maggie asked herself. "What am I doing?"

  Unfortunately, she had a pretty good idea of the answer. She was losing herself in a man, the way her mother had, the way Sophia had.

  But the worst part was how little she was starting to care.

  ~~~

  He talked to Maggie every day that week, sometimes more than once a day. Ian was sure he'd only made it through the week by having her at the other end of a phone line.

  It didn't hurt that he knew he'd have her, all of her, at the end of the week.

  On the phone Maggie was always so sweet, listening carefully, laughing in the right places. She was soothing or sarcastic by turns, but always at just the right times. By Friday, Ian had nearly forgotten his fear about her commitment to him. She wanted this, the whole deal. Just like he did.

  On Friday afternoon he became antsy with anticipation. He was finally going to see her again, in the flesh.

  That was, he could see her as soon as he'd farmed out his children.

  Kathy was no problem. She'd arranged to go to her friend's house directly after school. Andy, however, was going to require a ride to his friend Brandon's house since he'd wanted to come home first in order to take care of his schoolwork.

  Ian could hardly argue with such a responsible plan of action, even if it was going to delay his being able to see Maggie by at least an hour. Besides, it gave him an opportunity to try to talk to his son again. Judging by Andy's crappy attitude, Ian's last effort hadn't been a big success.

  Ian arrived home from work about five-thirty. By then Andy was sitting downstairs in the living room, paging through a magazine, his duffel bag by his side. He'd apparently already finished whatever homework he'd had.

  As soon as Ian walked in the door, Andy asked, "Can we go now?" He didn't look up from his magazine.

  "Uh." Ian hadn't expected such promptness on the part of his characteristically heel-dragging son. "I, um, sort of wanted to change my clothes first." And jump in the shower. Being at the office still made him sweat, something he didn't exactly want to share with Maggie.

  Andy pursed his lips and continued perusing the magazine. "Fine, I'll wait."

  Well, gee, thanks. Ian set down his briefcase. "I'll be as fast as I can."

  Andy shrugged.

  Ian set off up the stairs. Andy was definitely back to the place he'd been before the heart attack. But was that a good place? Ian knew it was normal for teenagers to resent their parents, but Andy's resentment seemed beyond normal.

  His pleasant buzz of anticipation dimmed as he stood under the shower spray. He was definitely going to have to talk to Andy.

  When Ian came down the stairs, having hastened through his preparations for the night, Andy was done with his magazine and holding up the wall by the front door. His arms were crossed over his chest and his mouth was set in a sullen line.

  "Okay." Ian used cheery a tone as he could manage. "I'm ready. Let's go."

  Andy picked up his duffel bag without replying. He opened the front door.

  Ian considered and rejected a dozen opening lines as they both walked out to the car. Hell, he was no good at this stuff. No wonder Andy resented him.

  Once in the car, Ian started the engine. The tension was unbearable; he simply had to say something. "Ahem. I'm going on a date with your Aunt Maggie tonight." There. How was that? Drop a little gunpowder on the problem.

  But all Andy did was shrug. "I figured."

  Ian glanced at him, surprised. "You did?"

  "Kathy told me you guys were getting...romantic." Andy sighed and looked out the window. "Whatever."

  Ian glanced at him again. Whatever? And that meant—? "Does it bother you?"

  Andy kept his gaze out the window. "It doesn't matter."

  Ian puffed out a breath. Translation: it bothered him. Great. Like Ian didn't have enough going against him here.

  "I do wonder." Ian tried to sound judicious. "She is your aunt. It might feel to you like I'm—I don't know—horning in on your territory."

  With his elbow bent on the car window ledge, Andy continued gazing outward. "Aunt Maggie will always be my aunt, no matter what you happen to do."

  "Well, that's true—"

  "So you're the one who has to be careful." Andy shot his father a strange look. "Because she isn't related to you."

  Ian felt a sinking sensation. "You got a point there."

  With a low growl, Andy resumed his perusal out the window.

  Ian stared out the windshield. Well, at least he'd discovered what was bothering Andy, not that he had the slightest idea what to do about it. He wasn't going to stop seeing Maggie. Hell, he was serious about her.

  "This is the turn for Brandon's house," Andy observed.

  "Oh, right. Right." Ian flicked on his turn signal and rounded the corner. Now, what?

  "I'll call you tomorrow morning when I'm ready to come home," Andy grumbled. He wrapped his hands around the loops of his duffel bag.

  "Sure." Ian pulled into the driveway of Brandon's house.

  Andy popped open his car door and started to step out.

  "Andy—" Ian said.

  Andy turned. His face was dark and closed. "Yeah?"

  I love you. Dammit, can't you give me a break? But Ian sincerely doubted hi
s son wanted such a sloppy sentiment dumped on him. "Have a good time."

  "Right." Andy had already turned away. He closed the car door behind him. Ian noted he did not reciprocate the sentiment, telling his father to have a good time.

  Not that Ian didn't intend to do just that, have a good time, with or without his son's blessing. Nothing was going to interfere with his enjoyment of this evening with Maggie. Nothing.

  ~~~

  "I can't help it. This feels naughty." Maggie tripped on one of the flagstones leading to Ian's front door. She giggled.

  "Hey." There was a chuckle in Ian's throat as he steadied Maggie with the arm he already had snugly tucked around her waist. "Please don't say you're drunk."

  "Pleasantly tipsy." Maggie tapped his chest with one hand and let him continue leading her to the house. Without the inebriation she didn't think she could possibly do this. Go into Ian's house. Sophia's house. To do unspeakable things.

  "Good," Ian said firmly. He stopped at the front door to fiddle with his set of keys.

  Maggie watched with an agreeable buzz of anticipation building beneath her silk dress as he stuck the key in the lock. He'd taken her out to dinner at a tiny and very cozy little Japanese place, brand new, off route 14. They'd shared saki and held hands and laughed softly together over nothing. In short, they'd done all the traditional courting rituals that Maggie had never indulged in before. She felt warm and fuzzy and reckless.

  "There!" Ian said in triumph, and pushed open the door.

  Maggie let go of yet one more mooring of sanity as she took a step and walked through ahead of him. A part of her wanted to head out to sea, get lost, go under. Another part of her feared she might drown.

  Ian followed her through the door and closed it behind them. Maggie turned to face him. As they stood there, a few feet apart, the anticipation was like a fire crackling around them.

  Then Ian took a step. So did Maggie. In an abrupt rush they landed in each other's arms.

  "I've been waiting—"

  "I can't believe—"

  Neither one of them got a chance to finish their thoughts. Their mouths found something better to do, meeting and melding in a celebratory conflagration.