One Plus One Makes Marriage

by Marie Ferrarella

  He was right, it did feel soft.

  Would he be right about her mouth as well?

  And then, though he knew it was a mistake, a mistake he was going to regret, a mistake he was destined to make, Lance framed her face with his hands and brought his mouth down to hers.

  Chapter Six

  Softly, like the reverent whisper of a child at prayer, Lance’s lips moved slowly over hers.

  He could hardly believe he was doing this, kissing Melanie when he had tried so hard to be firm, to hold himself in check.

  And away from her.

  What the hell was he thinking?

  That was just it, he wasn’t thinking. He wasn’t thinking at all, only feeling. Only reacting. And enjoying. God help him, he was like a man having his first glass of water after an interminable drought He didn’t know whether to sip it, gulp it or drench himself with it.

  What he couldn’t do was walk away.

  Tilting her head, his fingers lightly skimming the sensitive skin along her throat, Lance deepened the kiss. Deepened it until he lost himself in it, a militant lost in the heat of battle.

  If he was reluctant to surrender, it was merely a moot point. He was already gone.

  His body surrendered for him, allowing him to be taken prisoner by these sensations that were battering at him so insistently. She made his head swim, his blood heat and his body yearn for a time when he could just lose himself in a woman and not think of consequences.

  Anticipation had zipped through Melanie like a heartbeat before she felt his lips touch hers. Anticipation told her what to expect. After all, it wasn’t as if she hadn’t been kissed before.

  She hadn’t.

  Not like this.

  Anticipation, grounded in the past, hadn’t begun to prepare her for what lay immediately ahead. It was like riding a tricycle in preparation for a motorcycle, or being on a merry-go-round in preparation for mounting a wild mustang. There was absolutely no comparison between what had once been and what now was.

  And what it was, was wonderful.

  On her toes, trying to steep herself in the feel of his mouth and the warmth of his breath as it cascaded along her skin, Melanie wound her arms around his neck, her body around the fire that was licking at her from all sides. Wound herself around it and gave herself up to it. Willingly.

  The groan of pleasure came from somewhere deep within her. With all of Hollywood’s magic at her feet, she’d still never known, never dreamed, that kissing a man could feel like this.

  Like sunshine bursting in her veins.

  He tasted her moan within his mouth. His blood pumped harder, setting a torch to his excitement. The flame rose higher.

  If he wasn’t careful...

  He wasn’t careful, that was just it. He’d slipped and let the last kernel of need within him heat until it popped.

  With effort, though everything within him screamed out against it, he drew away.

  Melanie blinked, trying to focus. Her bearings were all blurred. She slipped her hands automatically to his shoulders to steady herself. How was it that she’d managed to remain standing when her kneecaps had been vaporized?

  Looking up, all she saw was Lance. It was all she wanted to see.

  “wow.”

  He laughed, then. He didn’t mean to, and there was nothing funny about what he’d just allowed himself to do, but he laughed at the startled, disoriented look on her face. She looked beyond pretty, beyond beautiful.

  She looked adorable. And completely irresistible.

  And then he did something even more incredibly stupid than when he’d first kissed her.

  He kissed her again.

  His lips hungrily devouring hers, Lance took Melanie into his arms with an urgency that he no longer was foolish enough to believe could be controlled. This kiss wasn’t exploratory. This kiss came from a man who was hungry, who wanted. Who’d lost and believed he would keep on losing.

  It was almost savage in its neediness.

  Melanie felt herself being sucked into a vortex. At first there was a flash of blinding panic, a desire for survival. But it was gone almost before it came. There was nothing to be afraid of. She wanted this, wanted him.

  She went into the vortex without a struggle, memorizing every sensation, every texture she encountered with what was left of her brain.

  She’d never felt so wanted, so needed before in her life. She knew she never would again, not with any other man.

  His hands were molding her against him, brushing along the length of her, sealing her to him until it was difficult to know where one of them ended and the other began. She didn’t want to know, because it was all one and the same.

  Melanie had never realized until this very moment that there had been something missing from her life. Now, for the first time, she felt completely whole.

  Lance felt a thin blade of panic wedge its way through the fire, carving a path along his belly. If he didn’t stop now, he was going to take her. Take her here and now and make love with her all night.

  And in the morning, when light shattered the fantasies created in the secret of shadows, he would leave and not come back. Because he couldn’t. Couldn’t return, knowing that disappointment would inevitably claim him.

  Every good moment exacted a payment. Every good moment was paid for with days of pain. He knew that, had lived through that. The next time he might not make it.

  He had to go and go now.

  Her warmth made him want to stay.

  She was trembling, he realized slowly, his brain still drugged with the very essence of her. She was shaking against him like a leaf tossed in the wind.

  Had he frightened her? He didn’t want to frighten her, but he must have. Because he sure as hell had frightened himself.

  Lance drew his head back, trying to quiet the pounding in his veins, in his head. Concentrating, he focused on her face. His heart twisted within his chest. Her lips were a little swollen.

  He cursed himself inwardly. She probably thought he was some kind of animal.

  Lance dragged air back into his aching lungs, wishing he could just go away and not look back. But he couldn’t go, not without saying something. He owed it to her.

  He skimmed his finger along the hollow of her cheek, where a faint discoloration mocked him. His fingers had pressed there as he’d framed her face.

  Lord, it was as if he didn’t even know himself. “I didn’t mean to do that.”

  “It’s a little late for apologies.” Gingerly Melanie touched her fingers to her lips. She could still feel him. Still taste him when she pressed her lips together. Talk about being overwhelmed. “Is this what it feels like to be branded?”

  It took him a moment to realize that she wasn’t angry. He’d lost his head and his cool and all but groped her in her doorway and she wasn’t angry. She was making a joke of it.

  What kind of woman was she?

  Lance looked into her eyes and had his answer.

  Except he didn’t believe what he saw, refused to believe that she was good and pure and willing to take him, scars and all. He was sharp when it came to his work, at the top of his game when it meant investigating fires. But he’d lost faith in all his senses when it came to dealing with women. His judgment was impaired. He’d been wrong before, why shouldn’t he be wrong now?

  Waiting for his pulse to stop beating erratically, Lance dragged an impatient hand through his hair. He didn’t want her thinking things. That maybe he felt something for her. That maybe this could go somewhere. Because it couldn’t.

  “Look. What just happened here...it shouldn’t have.” He slanted a glance at her face, waiting to see the anger. He could deal with anger, was equipped to deal with anger, his own and anyone else’s. It was kindness he didn’t know what to do with. Like the kindness he saw in her face. “I’m sorry if I hurt you.”

  He’d scared himself, Melanie thought. He’d felt something, just as she had, and he’d scared himself. Here was a man who was going to have
to be led, gently, slowly and with patience. She didn’t mind. She was up to it.

  “You’ll only hurt me if you apologize again.” She smiled at him, surprised she could still make her lips work. “You only kissed me, Lance, you didn’t declare war or sack me.”

  In the midst of his inner turmoil, she made him pull up short. What the hell was she talking about? “Sack you?” he echoed.

  Amused, she nodded. “Like the Vikings did when they overran countries, robbing and pillaging.” Her smile teased him. “What’s the matter, didn’t you ever see that movie with Kirk Douglas and Tony Curtis?”

  The ache he was struggling against was too dark, too wide for him to be teased out of.

  “No,” he snapped. “I didn’t. And I had no business kissing you.”

  There was guilt in his eyes. “Is there someone else?” she asked. She hadn’t thought there was, but maybe she’d made a mistake. Melanie held her breath.

  “Yes.”

  She felt as if someone had shoved ground glass into her palms. He was married. She’d just kissed and given her soul away to a married man. The thought devastated her and sent her reeling.

  “Oh.”

  Because she looked so crushed, he decided he’d tell her... at least a part of it. That, too, he figured he owed her. “An old woman who died in a fire.”

  Then, he wasn’t married. Her brows furrowed. What did the woman have to do with what just happened now between them? “I don’t understand.”

  He didn’t want to talk about it. It was enough that it had gutted his insides when it happened. That he still woke up in the dead of night, hearing her scream. But he’d opened this door and now had to close it somehow.

  Consider it payment for a moment of rashness, he thought, looking at her mouth.

  “She died thinking I would save her.” The shrug was as angry as it was helpless. “I didn’t.”

  But he had tried, she thought. He’d tried very, very hard. “Is that how you got your scar?” Lance looked at her sharply. She could tell she’d guessed correctly. Her heart went out to him. “You took off your jacket and rolled up your sleeves when you helped me move the crates the other day. I saw a scar on your arm. It looked fresh.”

  “Two years,” he told her. The scar, the memory, all of it was two years old. He felt like it had happened yesterday.

  “You were a firefighter?” It wasn’t really a guess. Melanie knew the answer before he nodded. “What happened?”

  Why was he telling her all this? He didn’t want to remember, and he certainly didn’t want to share something like this with anyone.

  Tension made his jaw rigid. “The building was on fire. I couldn’t reach her in time. She died. End of story, all right?” He was shouting at her and hating himself for it.

  She looked beyond the angry eyes that were cutting her to ribbons. This wasn’t about her. This was about him, and the hair shirt he was making himself wear.

  “No, it’s not all right,” she told him gently. “Not until you forgive yourself.”

  “That would be too easy,” he said, turning away.

  “No—” her voice followed him as she walked to his car “—from what I see, that seems to be the hard part.”

  He got in and drove away, never looking back.

  Melanie watched the car disappear from view before she finally went inside.

  Joy waited for what she thought was a decent interval of time. She gave Melanie exactly fifteen minutes from the time she walked into the shop before she launched into the question that had been nibbling away at her.

  Cornering her at the register, Joy asked eagerly, “So, how did your date go?’

  Melanie had thought about him all night, wondering what it must be like, feeling responsible for someone else’s death. She couldn’t begin to imagine. What she did know was that in his case, the guilt was unjustified. She believed that with every fiber of her being.

  Preoccupied, Melanie mechanically placed bills into the proper slots in the register. They’d be opening for business within five minutes. “Fine, until the end.”

  Joy tried to read her friend’s expression to no avail. “What happened?”

  Melanie closed the cash drawer, leaning an elbow on the counter as she remembered and relived. “He kissed me until I thought my toes would burn a hole through my shoes and into the concrete, and then he left.”

  That didn’t sound right to Joy. That sounded like a prelude to a romantic night, not an evacuation. Something must have happened that Melanie wasn’t telling her. “For no reason?”

  There was a reason, all right. But not the right one. Melanie crossed to the rear wall and frowned. They’d sold several photographs in the past few days. She was going to have to rearrange them until she found more to fill the empty spaces. “It had something to do with a woman he couldn’t save from a fire.”

  “A fire,” Joy repeated, confused. “I thought Greg’s cousin was a stockbroker.”

  Looking for the notebook she kept her current records in, Melanie moved back to the front counter. “He is.”

  It would help, Joy thought, if she didn’t have to talk to a moving target.

  “Then what—” Staring at Melanie’s back, Joy had a horrible thought. She circled the counter until she could face Melanie. “Oh, you didn’t.” The sinking feeling torpedoed her stomach. “Tell me you didn’t go out with the fire breather.”

  A smile played on Melanie’s lips. A fire breather. Joy should have seen him last night. The nickname would have really stuck. She continued rummaging around the shelves underneath, looking for the notebook. She hadn’t been able to think clearly since Lance had left last night.

  “I didn’t go out with him, exactly. He was at the restaurant when we got there.” Finding the book, she placed it on the counter and rose. “And he came to my rescue.”

  “Your rescue?” He didn’t strike her like the kind of man who would bother rescuing a drowning kitten from a kiddy pool. “What was he rescuing you from?” Joy wanted to know.

  Melanie thought of the way Bradley had looked at her when they’d first met.

  “From what was shaping up to be one of the worst evenings of my life.” She turned to go to the storeroom, but Joy caught her hand.

  “Will you stand still and tell me the whole story?” she demanded with exasperation.

  “Bradley was into planning the second year of my retirement, when I spotted Lance and pretended that he was my jealous boyfriend, out looking for me. I told Bradley that the last time he came looking for me, they never found the guy I was with. So Bradley did the only thing he could.” She grinned, remembering. “He bolted and ran, leaving me to Lance’s mercy.”

  “Something he doesn’t look like he has a whole lot to spare.” Joy took a deep breath, bracing herself. She wasn’t sure if she was ready to hear this or not. But Melanie was her oldest, dearest friend, and she had an obligation to stick by her even when she was being reckless and crazy. “All right, fill me in. What did you do then?”

  Melanie could almost see him standing there, a reluctant knight, ready to rescue and retreat. “I offered to buy him dinner to pay him back for rescuing me.”

  The offer didn’t surprise Joy. Melanie was generous to a fault. What would surprise her, however, was learning that the fire breather was human enough to want to share an evening with a woman.

  “And he let you?”

  Melanie shook her head. Her so-called date probably would have, but not Lance. She had to admit, she was old-fashioned enough to like the gallantry Lance had exhibited. She smiled to herself. Lance would undoubtedly be annoyed at being called gallant. Too bad, she called them as she saw them.

  “I thought he was, but when the waitress came with the bill, he paid for it. Insisted on it. And then he took me home.”

  “And then?”

  Melanie couldn’t help the sigh that escaped as she said, “And then he kissed me.” She would probably sigh each time she remembered, for a long, long time. It wasn’t t
he kind of kiss a woman took lightly, no matter how experienced she was.

  Details, she wanted details, Joy thought, frustrated that she had to pull out every word. Melanie was usually a lot more talkative than this. If she’d given it any thought, she would have realized it was a bad sign.

  “Where?”

  Her eyes closed as she remembered. Melanie ran her tongue ever so lightly over her bottom lip. “On the mouth.”

  This was bad, Joy thought, studying Melanie’s expression.

  “No, I mean where were you when he kissed you? In the car, in the house?” She paused, afraid of the answer. “In the bedroom?”

  If it had gone that far, Melanie would have refrained from sharing the fact with Joy. There was a time to take stock of loyalties and though she dearly loved Joy, Melanie knew that Lance wouldn’t have appreciated her sharing all the intimate details of their time together.

  Melanie put an end to Joy’s speculation. “Don’t open your eyes that wide, Joy. Your contact lenses are going to pop out. He kissed me at the front door, and he never came inside.” She tried not to laugh at the disappointed look on Joy’s face. “I think he’s afraid of a relationship.”

  “He’s a man, isn’t he?”

  It wasn’t like that with Lance, Melanie thought. “No, there’s more to it than that. I don’t understand yet.” A look of determination came into her eyes. “But I intend to.”

  The rumbling noise on the street in front of the shop had her looking out the store window. A truck was pulling up. There were no deliveries scheduled for today. The things from the last auction she’d attended weren’t due until the end of the week.

  Melanie went to the front door and saw that the delivery truck belonged to a local florist. She looked over her shoulder at Joy. “Is your husband in the doghouse again?”

  Joy joined her, her curiosity aroused. “If he is, I didn’t put him there.”

  The delivery man walked in a few minutes later, a clipboard under his arm and a long, white box with the florist’s trademark in his hands. It was early, but he already looked harried. He singled out Melanie. “I’ve got a delivery for a McCloud.”