Finding Mr. Right

by Gwynne Forster

  “If y…you don’t know why, it would be useless to tell you.”

  “I’m trying to get an understanding here, Tyra, and I’d appreciate it if you’d refrain from getting high-minded.”

  “Getting what? Why…” She seemed to check herself. “I have a client coming in a few minutes. Can we talk this evening after work?’

  “All right. I’ll call you at six. Bye for now.”

  “Bye.”

  Chapter 10

  Telling herself that she needed to discuss Jonathan’s problems with Darlene before her sister went out for the evening, Tyra rushed home from work, although she had not shared her intentions with her sister. When five o’clock arrived and Darlene hadn’t come home, Tyra faced the fact that she’d lied to herself, that she had dashed out of her office and scrambled for a taxi—though she more often traveled home by public transportation—in order not to miss Byron’s six o’clock call.

  More subdued now, she changed into black jeans, a yellow, cowl-neck, cotton knit sweater and black sneakers and went into the kitchen to help Maggie. Instead of the housekeeper, she found a note that Maggie had attached to the refrigerator.

  “Tyra, dearie, since it’s just you tonight, I made your favorite—chicken and dumplings and string beans with smoked ham hocks. You can have ice cream and caramel cake for dessert, provided you have any room left. Darlene phoned and said she has a date, though she didn’t say with who, and Clark called to say he’s still in Washington. I’ll be home around eleven. Maggie.”

  She went over to the stove. Lifted the pot lids, looked down at her dinner and licked her lips. Having gotten used to wine with her dinner during her weekend with Byron, she looked for the wine that Clark kept in one of the refrigerators, found a bottle of Chardonnay and set her mind on enjoying her favorite meal.

  “Oh, gosh,” she said aloud, glancing at her watch, “now who on earth could that be just as I’m expecting Byron’s call?” She took her time getting to the door, aware that her entire demeanor bespoke annoyance. Why couldn’t the high-school students aiming to get college scholarships pick more reasonable times to sell their magazines? She looked through the peephole and saw only what looked like the back of a gray-clad shoulder. She slipped the chain and cracked open the door.

  “Byron! What a surprise!”

  “May I come in?”

  Her heart began a wild thudding in her chest. He seemed taller, bigger, more handsome and…had his eyes always been that dreamy and seductive? He stood there, like hot quicksand, sucking her into him.

  “You going to make me stand out here?” he asked her as a grin spread over his face.

  “Oh, no. Sorry. It’s just…you surprised me.” She took his hand, as if to pull him inside, walked in with him and closed the door.

  “I was hoping you’d have dinner with me,” he said, the famous grin no longer there to mesmerize her. “And I made the trip over here to lessen the chance that you’d turn me down. Will you…have dinner with me?”

  She opened her mouth and closed it without uttering a word.

  “Did I make a mistake?” he asked. But with his charisma once more in full bloom and that grin splashed across his face like summer sunshine, she knew his question was merely rhetorical. Not even he believed she’d turn him down.

  “Thanks for the invitation,” she said doing her best to keep a straight face. With effort, she creased her brow into a slight frown as if musing over some problem. “Tell you what, Maggie left some good stuff on the stove, she and Darlene are out, so why don’t you eat here with me? We can talk because it’ll be just the two of us, and Maggie left enough for four people. It’ll be ready as soon as I heat it up.”

  “Sounds good to me,” he said, “but if I’d known I was eating here, I would have brought wine for the table and flowers for you. What can I do to help?”

  “We’ll have to settle for Clark’s taste in Chardonnays,” she said and put her hands behind her where they couldn’t touch him and ease their itch to caress him. After all, she was supposed to be mad at him, wasn’t she? His showing up unexpectedly and looking like a brown Adonis had shaken her to the core and undermined her resolve to keep a distance between them. She told herself to get her act together.

  “We can…er…s-set the table,” she said, annoyed at herself because her childhood stammer seemed to have returned.

  When she started toward the dining room, he stopped her. “Why can’t we eat in the kitchen?”

  “Because…look at you. You’re dressed for the White House. I can’t—”

  The man didn’t plan to play fair. He gathered her to him, wrapped her close and brushed his lips over hers. “I’ll remove the jacket. I just want to be with you. I don’t care what we talk about or if we talk at all. I missed you, Tyra. Kiss me, baby, and let me feel that I’m still important to you.”

  He was honest and open, and she could be no less. “You are important to me. Oh, Byron! You are.”

  She parted her lips, and he went into her. Frissons of heat plowed through her as his hands skimmed over her body, heating her, sending her blood on a mad dash to her loins, possessing her and reminding her of the pleasure he gave her when he lay buried deep inside of her.

  “Baby, I don’t want us to lose what we’ve found together.”

  “Me neither,” she said in a voice muffled against his shoulder. “But if we talk about it right now, we probably won’t eat together. I was mad at you. I’m not right now, but I know how tenacious you can be.”

  He moved her away from him, his smile luminous. “I don’t plan to leave here with you angry at me. What time will Darlene and Maggie be home?”

  “I’m not telling. Come on. Let’s set the table. Aren’t you hungry?”

  His left eyebrow shot up. “For what?”

  She looked at him through partially lowered eyelids. “Behave yourself. The flatware’s in that drawer over there, and if you look straight ahead, you’ll see the wine glasses. Since we’re eating in the kitchen, the silver can stay where it is, and paper napkins can suffice.”

  “I don’t like paper napkins,” he said, giving the impression of a pout. “They’re too small.”

  She whirled around to get a linen napkin, and when he reached out to stop her, his hand brushed against her breast, its nipple still erect from their caress. He stared down at her. “You’re as sensitive to me as I am to you, and I am not going to let this tiff we’re having wreck what we feel for each other. Is that clear?”

  “Then I take it you know how to compromise,” she said, moved away from him and opened the drawer that contained napkins. “Now, we can keep your Neiman Marcus trousers free of foreign matter.” She ushered him to the kitchen and pointed to the table.

  “Have a seat wherever suits your fancy.” She filled one large serving dish with the chicken and dumplings and another with string beans and smoked ham hocks. “No first course tonight, because we’re going to eat all of this,” she said, reaching for the serving spoon.

  He took her hand, “Lord, we thank you for this food and for the love we have for each other.”

  A little of the steam went out of her, and when she looked at him, she realized that her annoyance at him must have dissipated. “Thanks for saying grace, Byron. I’m ashamed to say that when I’m real hungry, I tend to forget it.”

  He tasted the dumplings first. “Hmm. This is good stuff. I once drove all the way to Lancaster, Pennsylvania, to get some of this. Give Maggie my compliments. No. I’ll do that myself. Aunt Jonie’s effort at this didn’t go over well with either Andy or me.”

  “Want me to send her a recipe for it?”

  “I’d rather you came over and made it. Aunt Jonie resists learning what she doesn’t have to learn. This is wonderful, Tyra.”

  “Wait ’til you taste her string beans.”

  “I’ll get to that in a minute. Where’s that Chardonnay?” She nodded toward the refrigerator. He opened the wine, filled their glasses and lifted his in a toast. “The ine
ffable joy of forgiving and being forgiven forms an ecstasy that might well be the envy of the gods.’”

  “Quoted from…”

  “Elbert Hubbard in The Note Book.”

  She raised her own glass. “According to William Blake, ‘It is easier to forgive an enemy than to forgive a friend.’”

  He put his glass on the table. “I think we’re talking serious now, so let’s forget about the quotes. Does that mean you can’t forgive whatever I said that upset you? You haven’t even told me what it was.”

  “You suggested that I turn my case over to one of my colleagues in order to avoid conflict with you. You didn’t suggest that you would turn the case over to one of your colleagues, although you’re doing that on a volunteer basis, and it’s my job. I’m a trained professional, Byron, and I approach my work with integrity and honor. I’m not doing it for fun. I want to make a difference in the lives of people who need what I have to offer, and I suppose that’s why you’re doing it. I’ve been hurt that you think I’d do such a frivolous thing.”

  He stopped eating, leaned back in the ladder-back chair and ran the fingers of his left hand back and forth over his chin. She knew him well enough now to expect that he wouldn’t comment until he’d given the matter reasonable thought. So she served herself another helping of string beans, cut a piece of the pork hock and continued eating. To her astonishment, she had no anxiety as to what his comment would be.

  He picked up his fork, continued eating for a bit and then said, “I can see how that would ring your bell. It wouldn’t have annoyed me, I suppose because I wouldn’t have taken it seriously.”

  “But you were serious, Byron.”

  “You’re right. I was, and I apologize. From the way you related it, it smacks of male chauvinism, and I like to pride myself on not being guilty of that. Just don’t walk out on me if my client wins.”

  “He doesn’t have a chance, and you know it. I can’t figure out why you’d waste time representing him. He’s unprincipled.”

  “I’m his counselor, as in social advisor. If I represent him, it will be because Darlene forces me to.”

  She served herself more chicken and dumplings, looked at him and asked him, “Don’t you want some more?”

  “Yeah, but the way you’re going after that, I was hesitant to ask, for fear there won’t be enough for you.”

  “Have you seen how much is in the serving dish, not to speak of what’s in the pot. I’m not a pig.”

  Laughter poured out of him, almost as if in relief. “Of course not, but I can testify to your love for chicken with dumplings and string beans.” He refilled their wine glasses. “Not bad. Tell Clark I said he knows his Chardonnay. I’ll clean the kitchen.”

  “Not yet. We have to have dessert.”

  He stared at her. “You’re kidding.”

  “Would I pass up homemade caramel cake and vanilla ice cream?”

  “Probably not. I sure won’t.”

  After enjoying the dessert and the remainder of the wine, they cleaned the kitchen together, laughing, touching and teasing each other.

  “Want to go fishing with Andy, Dad and me tomorrow morning? I can be over here at about six-thirty, and we’ll be on the lake by seven. Early bird catches the worm.”

  “Do I have to wake up, or can I do all this in my sleep like a somnambulist?”

  “If Andy’s willing to sacrifice his sacrosanct sleep to go fishing with his granddad, surely you’ll do the same for the company of the man you love. Uh…ahem. Right?”

  “That’s below the belt. I can’t do breakfast for four that early.”

  “Not to worry about breakfast. We’ll cook by the lake. What about it?”

  “Okay, but call me forty minutes before you get here.”

  “Gladly. Now, tell me this. Is everything straight between you and me?”

  She removed her rubber gloves, placed them on the counter to dry and looked at him. “Am I mad at you, you mean?”

  “That’s one way of dicing it. Yes.”

  “I’m not mad at you, and I’m getting over being hurt, because you said you were wrong.”

  “I’m serious, sweetheart. I want us back where we were when I left you here at your foyer Sunday night.”

  Why did he insist on reasoning through their problem…that is, if they had one? She wished men wouldn’t have to be logical in everything. Couldn’t he just… Irritated all of a sudden for no reason, she said, “You were very adept at getting us to that point. Doing it again ought to be easier.”

  He stared down at her. “I could take that two ways.”

  She didn’t give quarter, but stared right back at him. “Take it the way that suits you best.”

  His gaze didn’t waver, and when his left eye narrowed slightly, goose bumps popped out on her arms. Her head said, Don’t toy with him, but her body reminded her that she could do with him as she pleased. “You’re a quick study,” she said, getting bolder, “and if you know what you want, what’s stopping you?”

  Like a streak of lightning, his arm shot out, and he pinned her to his body, so tightly that air couldn’t get between them. “If you’re a quick study, this will teach you not to play with me.” He picked her up and carried her up the stairs. “Where’s your room?”

  “I’m not telling you.”

  He didn’t put her down. “You want it right here?”

  She eased her arms around his neck, rested her head on his shoulder and said, “Down the hall to your right.” She told herself that she’d have to find other ways of getting what she wanted.

  Beside her bed, he set her on her feet, and looked at her. “May I undress you?”

  What a time for gentle behavior! She itched to see him without his famous control, open and as passion-driven as she, with some rough edges showing. “You could at least kiss me.”

  With his arms tight around her, he whispered, “I may be putty in your hands, sweetheart, but be careful not to remind me of that fact.” His tongue slid over the seams of her lips, and she opened to him, greedy and anxious to suck him into her. Knowing what to expect of him now, she locked her hands to his buttocks and gripped him to her as he teased her with the feel of his tongue streaking in and out of her mouth, promising, telling her what was to come. She sucked it and squeezed it in pulsing motions, telling him in return what lay in store for him. He spread his legs and brought her closer, flush against his erection. When she moaned, he put his hand on her breast, thrust his hand in the bodice of her sweater, released her breast and sucked its nipple into his mouth. Her keening cry seemed to encourage him, and he suckled vigorously as if he’d hungered for weeks.

  The moisture of her desire dampened her and she begged shamelessly, “Honey, put me in the bed and—”

  “You’re not going to challenge me again. You hear?” He rubbed against her, heating her to boiling point.

  “I won’t promise. I want you in me right now. I need you, Byron.”

  He pulled her sweater over her head, threw it on a nearby chair, unzipped her jeans, dragged them down and flung them over his shoulder, pulled back the covers, lifted her and put her on the bed. But she sat up and worked at getting rid of his trousers while he removed his shirt.

  She stared at the treasure before her—big, hard, ready and all hers, leaned forward and eased him between her lips. Liking the taste, she took more of him, but he quickly moved away. “Are you angry because I did that?” she asked him. “I figured if you did that to me, I could do the same.” He settled her in bed, and when she opened her arms to him in a gesture every woman understands, he nearly fell into them.

  “Angry? How could I be? It’s the most delicious feeling. But I couldn’t afford to make a mistake, and I’m already about to burst.”

  He bent to her breast, licked the valley between them, and moved with maddeningly slow pace to her left breast, frustrating her until she held her nipple to his mouth. When he sucked it, heat flooded the bottom of her feet and she spread her legs in invitation. H
e ignored the gesture and charted his own course, skimming his fingers over her flesh as he eased his way down her body. His tongue sampled her navel, and her hips began their slow dance, as he licked and nipped his way to his goal. He’d taught her what to expect, and she thought she’d go mad waiting for the thrust of his tongue. And then he had her, sucking, probing and plunging until he found that spot at which he could drive her wild.

  She cried out. “Byron! Honey, give it to me. It’s so good. I can’t stand it. I think I’m going to die. Please!”

  Near completion and straining for control, he eased his way up her body, licking and enjoying the taste and scent of her delicate flesh. Her woman’s scent excited him, and he wanted to suck her sweet nipple again, but he knew that if he did, it would be over.

  “Take me, sweetheart.” She raised her knees, took his penis into her hands, caressing and stroking as if she didn’t know she could make him lose it. “Baby, easy. Take me in.”

  She positioned him at the entrance of her vagina, thrust her hips upward, and he sank into her sweet tunnel. He kissed her lips, saying without words that he loved her. Almost immediately, that maddening way she had of pulsating around him rhythmically commenced and became stronger and stronger with each move, until… Oh lord, she’d started squeezing him, and he had to hold on. He couldn’t desert her now. What was she saying?

  “Byron, honey, I need to burst. I can’t stand this. It won’t… Oh, lord, I’m…”

  Screams poured out of her as she squeezed him so tightly that he could hardly move. “I love…Byron. I…I’m dying.”

  He heard her words. “Are you straight, baby? Tell me. I—”

  “Yes. Yes.” Her voice was barely a whisper. Then she accelerated her thrust, tossing her hips up to him in sync with his rhythm, and his whole body shook as he splintered in her arms, moaning her name. Strung out, vulnerable and practically helpless, he doubted he could move a finger.

  At least five minutes had passed when he raised his head, looked down into her face and said, “I love you. Are you all right? I mean, did it work for you? Are you satisfied?”