MIDNIGHT CHOICES

by Eileen Wilks

  Color washed over her cheeks and set her smile free. She nodded and stepped aside.

  Her new living room was small, seriously tidy and splashed with color. The walls were pale lemon; lime green throw pillows enlivened a dark green couch a few years past its prime. An area rug banded in green and turquoise covered most of the wooden floor. The huge old étagère that held the television, some books and a few toys had been painted turquoise, too, at some point. The blinds weren't in the best shape, but the windows were tall and would let in plenty of light. She'd put ivy on one of the deep windowsills, some kind of flowering plant on the other.

  He smiled. "I can't believe how much this place looks like you already."

  Her eyes lit up. "I got lucky, didn't I? Um … do you want something to drink? I don't have much, I'm afraid – I just picked up the essentials. But I can offer you some orange juice. Or I could make coffee."

  "I don't need anything to drink." Her. He needed her. He could feel his pulse pounding in his throat, and lower down. "I'm afraid to touch you."

  "Oh. Well, then, I have an idea." Her smile flickered as she moved toward him. "I could touch you, instead." She stopped in front of him and slowly unzipped his jacket, then rested her hands on his chest. "If I do anything you don't like or that frightens you, just tell me. I'll stop. Probably."

  Laughter rolled up from his middle, surprising him. He put his arms around her and held her, just held her, his face pressed to her hair.

  The laughter died as suddenly as it had come. "Gwen," he said, and couldn't remember what to say next. They needed to talk … but her hair smelled like apples, and her body was warm and soft and willing in his arms. And his was hard and ready and hungry. So hungry.

  He stroked her back, trying to soothe himself. "Are you okay?"

  She frowned at him. "That should be my line. Your arm… Ben said he didn't hit it, but the way you two were rolling around–"

  "No new damage."

  She touched the butterfly bandage Jeff had put on the cut on his forehead, her fingertips gentle. "What about your head? Did all that blood last night come from this?"

  "Head wounds bleed a lot," he said absently. "Besides, Jeff patched me up when I got to his place." It was a very pretty sweater she was wearing, but he wanted it off. He wanted to feel skin when he stroked her. He shook his head, trying to be civilized. "What about Zach?"

  Tiny diamond studs in her ears winked at him when she tilted her head. "He's asleep."

  "No, I meant…" One of his hands had drifted down to cherish the soft, round curve of her bottom. He lost what he was going to say. "Damn. I can't think when I touch you. I meant that he might not be okay with me being here. Especially after last night."

  "If I thought it would hurt him for you to be with me, you'd be on the other side of the door right now."

  He knew that. He knew it, yet… "He wanted you to marry his father."

  "Duncan." She was patient. "Of course he wanted that. He's four and a half years old. He wants a dog desperately, too, but the lack of one hasn't warped him or made him hate my cat."

  So he was like her cat, was he? Not Zach's first choice, but with luck her son wouldn't hate him. He managed a half smile. "I didn't know you had a cat."

  "Natasha. She's a crotchety old thing. I'll have to go back home to get her and my car, among other things." She touched his cheek. "You haven't shaved in a while."

  "I should have, but I was pretending I wouldn't come here tonight."

  "Well." Her hand fell away. "That's honest. I guess it explains why you didn't call, too. It was just a kiss, after all. I suppose I read too much into it."

  "No." He closed his hands around her arms. "No; there's more than just a kiss between us. I couldn't stay away from you."

  "But you wanted to."

  "I don't know what I want these days, remember? Except you." He ran his hands down her arms to capture her hands. "I know I want you."

  "Something tells me you spent the day trying to talk yourself out of it, though." She hesitated. "Ben was here earlier."

  "I know." He touched one of the little studs, then traced the curve of her ear. "I saw his truck."

  "He apologized. Not for the fight." She rolled her eyes. "He seemed to think that was perfectly acceptable. For what he said to me. I thought that was generous of him, under the circumstances."

  "Ben always does what he thinks is right."

  "You sound bitter."

  "Maybe I am." He tested the word in his mind, seeing how it fit. "I love Ben, but he's not an easy act to follow."

  She was silent a moment. "Is that a problem? With me, I mean. With us."

  "I'm not sure." The first, raw hunger had eased, but it wasn't gone. He had trouble balancing his need against hers. Right now, she needed reassurance, but all he could offer was honesty. "Yes. It's a problem. But it isn't something we have to fix tonight."

  Her eyes were very large, very serious, as they searched his. "Is there going to be an 'us,' then?"

  "I thought there already was." Even though they weren't lovers yet. Even though he'd never taken her on a date, never done with her any of the things couples do. Even though, until last night, he'd thought of her as his brother's woman… Duncan took a deep breath. "You know my leave is nearly up."

  "I know. You haven't promised me anything, Duncan. I understand that."

  Did she? Could she protect herself against all that he wasn't promising? "You must have noticed that Ben's the dependable one. For some reason you've decided you want me, instead. I don't know why – maybe because he let you down once. But if you're thinking I won't ever let you down … Gwen. Don't count on me for too much."

  "I'm not in love with Ben. That's why I don't want him."

  Staggered, he could only stare, his hands tightening on her arms. She hadn't said she was in love with him, just that she didn't love Ben. But the distinction didn't seem to matter to his whirling thoughts or his pounding heart.

  Now, his body screamed, every muscle tight with need.

  Now, he agreed, instinctively widening his stance as he pulled her to him. Hunger roughened his voice. "For someone who talks like a sensible woman, you sure like to gamble."

  "I guess I do," Gwen said, and she cupped the back of his head with her hand and pulled his mouth down to hers.

  Their first kiss had been discovery, sweet and drugging. This time, heat hit fast and hard.

  Gwen felt the quick shudder that went through him. Then his arms tightened so hard she couldn't breathe. But she didn't need breath. She needed this – his arms, his urgency, the press of his body against hers. His mouth, hard and demanding. The heady male scent of him and the dense muscles of his back beneath her hands … the flexing of those muscles as he swept her into his arms.

  "Duncan! Your arm—"

  "It's fine," he said, and a smile touched his mouth.

  She smiled back at him, smiled through the dizziness of being carried and kissed on her chin, her shoulder – whatever part of her body he could reach, he kissed. He carried her into the bedroom she'd never slept in, and she rejoiced that for this first night here, he would be with her.

  The light was on. And the bed was occupied – by her suitcase. She'd forgotten to put it away. "I forgot," she said, her face flaming as if she'd committed some terrible social sin.

  Show-and-tell time was here. And she wasn't sure she was ready.

  "No problem." He put her down – slowly, so that their bodies ended up touching. He kissed her again, his mouth testing, retreating, returning.

  Shaky, she pulled away. "You'd better close the door."

  She hurriedly removed the suitcase and folded back the covers. "I bought the comforter today. Down-filled. I wanted something warm for your cold Colorado nights."

  "It's very pretty." But he wasn't looking at her bed. His eyes remained steady on her. "Beautiful, in fact."

  Her smile wobbled.

  He came to her, rubbed his knuckles along her cheek. "You're nervous. S
econd thoughts?"

  "No, only … it's been a long time." She forced humor into her voice. "Maybe I've forgotten how. Or something might have rusted."

  "You've seen my scar."

  How did he know? How could he pluck her fears right out of her head that way? "It's not the same. Your scar is on your arm."

  He nodded seriously. "I see. If the bullet had taken a chunk out of my nuts instead of my arm, it would change how you feel about me. Seeing me naked would be a turnoff. You'd be kind, I imagine, try to hide your revulsion or disappointment, but–"

  She put her hands on his shoulders, leaned in close – and nipped his chin. "I'm having a crisis here, and you make me sound ridiculous."

  "Because you're being ridiculous." That slow smile eased across his face, but his eyes were hot, the lids heavy. "You can't really believe it will matter to me, can you?"

  All sorts of feelings fluttered in her stomach trying to break free. "Show me," she whispered.

  The smile lingered on his mouth. Deliberately he bent and pulled off his shoes. Then he straightened, put his hands on her waist – and tumbled with her onto the bed.

  They landed with Gwen on her back, laughing in surprise. He was stretched out half on top of her, their legs tangled. His eyes shone. Her skin tingled. She drew a foot along his calf and enjoyed the little hitch in his breath.

  He slid a hand up under her sweater, pausing at her waist. "I've dreamed of touching you here." He stroked the tender skin just above her jeans. His fingers were warm. "God knows I tried not to, but I wanted so much to be free to touch you."

  That wasn't all he wanted. It wasn't all Gwen wanted, either. But there was a delicious languor in lying quietly while his hand made light, careful magic on her skin.

  Then he slid the hem of her sweater up to her waist and met her eyes. "Let me show you how you make me feel, Gwen."

  She stiffened – she couldn't help it. She wasn't wearing a bra. But it was time, past time, to stop feeling sorry for herself because of a little inconsistency between her breasts. "I'll do it."

  He shifted to one side so she could take the hem of her sweater in her hands and lift up enough to tug it off over her head. She tossed it away, paying no attention to where it landed, and lay back down. Her heart was pounding, and it wasn't all from desire.

  She was very aware that when she lay on her back, her breasts practically disappeared. Gwen had never much minded being small there, perhaps because of the example of her mother, who had always seemed the height of grace and elegance. But when a bite has been taken out of a peach-size breast, the lumpy plum left behind just isn't very pretty.

  She couldn't tell it by Duncan's reaction, though.

  He was propped on one elbow, gazing down at her. No way could he have faked that look of arousal – the pleasure-dilated eyes, the slight, excited flush on his cheeks.

  Her hands, which had been tensed into fists at her side, went limp. "Maybe I should have asked if you were a breast man."

  "Oh, yeah," he said, shifting so he could run both his hands up her midriff to her breasts. He cupped them, lifting. "Definitely. Also a lip man." He licked the hardened tip of her left breast – the lumpy plum. She shivered. "A hip man, a leg man – I've never seen the point in specializing."

  He settled in to enjoy himself then, and that destroyed the last of her doubts. He wasn't trying to convince her of anything. He didn't pull her nipple into his mouth because he wanted to prove she was desirable. Plainly, obviously, he was pleasing himself … and her.

  She forgot which breast was lumpy, which one whole. Both received attention. Both sent the most incredible sensations shimmering through her. She reveled in those feelings, let go and sank into them, rolling up her mind and tucking it away for later. Feeling was enough.

  Feeling sent her hands over his shoulders, his chest, but there was too little of him she could reach. And too much cloth in the way. So she tugged on his sweatshirt and he let her pull it off. Then she had his chest to enjoy – the hard muscles, the arrowhead of hair right in the center. And there was his scar to be kissed, too, and the hard curve of his shoulder to lick, and somewhere along the line he decided she didn't need her jeans anymore. Or her panties.

  She agreed. The hard knot of need was tightening in her belly, the pulse between her legs growing stronger, more insistent. She wanted his jeans off, too, but he told her, "Not yet," and her hands forgot how to deal with a zipper as he cupped her between her legs. She arched into his touch, her breath lost in a gasp. For a few minutes she was helpless, her hands clutching him, the covers, kneading whatever they landed on as he licked and sucked while his hand worked her.

  The quick buck of climax surprised her, slapping her into a white-hot burst of pleasure that left her limp and panting. She lay in a damp, naked sprawl, her mind hazed, while he took care of the zipper that had defeated her, pulled something from his pocket and shoved his jeans down.

  Finally he was as bare as she was. The sight of him did nothing to clear her mind, but a great deal to chase away the drowsy fog.

  He sheathed himself and knelt between her legs. She raised her knees, cradling him, and he kissed her. Then he was at her entrance, rubbing against her as their mouths clung.

  She pushed up, he pushed in and she held him inside her, pulsing against her inner walls. Her muscles contracted in a spasm of pleasure. He groaned.

  "Oh, good," she gasped, shifting her hips to seat him more fully. "Looks like my parts are still in working order. Nothing rusted."

  Delight lit his face. He bent and kissed her ear and withdrew very slowly, murmuring that yes, her parts seemed to be working very well. Then he thrust home, hard. And his control broke.

  That closed, unrevealing face lost all its guards. He drove into her as if he couldn't stop himself, as if she held the answer to every secret yearning he'd never dared speak. He was naked now, truly naked to her for the first time, and the power of that stripped her of speech and thought even as her body answered his in the wild ride toward glory.

  * * *

  Chapter 16

  «^»

  The new comforter was on the floor. Duncan was lying on his back, his chest heaving. Gwen was puddled across that chest, boneless, as words drifted back into her keeping. She was smiling. "I think I'm still breathing. Would you check, please?"

  "I don't know if I can. Someone is panting on my chest, though. I thought it was you."

  She moved one hand enough to pat the firm surface beneath her cheek. "It's a magnificent chest."

  "No—" his hand moved lazily to cup her breast "—this is magnificent."

  No one had ever called her chest that, even before one breast was turned into a lumpy plum. But he meant it. Suddenly she needed to see his face. "We may have to agree to disagree on that." She rested her forearms on his chest, propping herself up.

  He looked so relaxed. Happy. She wondered if her smile was goofy with love for him. Her heart certainly was. "You're so beautiful."

  Was that a faint rose flush beneath the tan on his cheeks? "Afterglow is having an odd effect on your vision."

  Her smile widened. She'd embarrassed him. "The beard stubble is very sexy, in a rough-around-the-edges way. Beneath it you have the loveliest cheekbones. Elegant." She drew her fingertips across them. Definitely a flush, she decided, tickled.

  He shifted, obviously uncomfortable. "Are you one of those women who wants to chat after sex?"

  "Certainly. You aren't one of those men who fall asleep afterward, are you?"

  His smile took on another cast – wicked, that was what it was. Definitely wicked. "I'm not sleepy."

  He took his time proving that.

  It was very late when they left the bedroom. Reluctantly they'd decided it would be best if he didn't stay the night. At least, Gwen was reluctant. She couldn't tell what he felt. Duncan had stopped being naked before he pulled his clothes back on.

  "Zach is too young to understand the implications of a man staying the night with me," s
he said, handing him his jacket. They were in the living room.

  "He's also too young to understand the need for discretion," Duncan said.

  "I don't understand the need for it, either. I'm not ashamed of what I've done."

  "I'm glad." He took the time to drop a kiss on her mouth, then shrugged into his jacket. "But Zach is likely to mention it to Ben if I wake up in your bed in the morning."

  "Ben is going to know about us. Sooner or later he has to know."

  "Later would be better. I'd rather not rub his face in our relationship. We've already done that once." He looked grim.

  "Duncan, Ben asked me to marry him because of Zach, not because there's anything between us. We shared one kiss, that's all – no intimacy, no promises."

  "You share Zach – that's an ongoing commitment. The two of you made Zach. That's a pretty major intimacy."

  She bit her lip. "You did say you had a problem with my history with your brother."

  "It's Ben's feelings I'm worried about now, not mine." He put his hands on her shoulders gently. "You don't have a clue, do you."

  "But his feelings weren't deeply involved! Surely he won't be angry with you for long. If you just talk to him—"

  He snorted. "You don't know my brother. He changes his mind about as easily as rivers change their courses. It can happen, but it helps if there's an earthquake to move things along. Whatever his reasons for asking you to marry him, the fact remains that he'd settled on you for his wife. He won't forgive or forget what I've done anytime soon."

  "That's exactly right," she said quietly. "I don't know Ben, not really."

  That startled him enough that she got a glimpse inside. Sadness mixed with warmth in his rainy-day eyes. "Okay." He dropped a kiss on her nose. "Point taken. I'll come by around noon, if that's okay."

  Of course it was.

  The moon was high when he left. Gwen's feet were freezing. Still she stood in the doorway and watched him go, watched until the dome light in his car shut off as the door slammed shut.