On Temporary Terms

by Janice Maynard

  For whatever reason, Duncan Stewart spoke to something deep in her heart, some vulnerable, fragile, hopeful spot that wanted a man with a voice like warm honey and a deep streak of honor and a strength that would care for a woman and yet respect her ability to care for him, also.

  None of it mattered. He wasn’t hers to keep.

  When her arm went numb, she tried to ease it out from under him. His bare chest radiated heat. Since she was fully dressed, she was too hot. When she tried to push the covers aside, Duncan muttered and rolled toward her, one powerful leg trapping both of hers against the mattress.

  In a single stark second, she felt the press of his aroused sex against her hip. Oh, Lordy. Her stomach flip-flopped. Duncan was asleep. She knew that. A man’s body had certain predictable reactions in compromising situations.

  Was this her fault? Had she subconsciously wanted this?

  No. Heck, no. She might be a sex-starved single woman with few prospects, but she wasn’t that desperate. She had wanted to help Duncan through the night. That was all. Besides, she was fully dressed. Nothing could happen.

  He mumbled something unintelligible and slid a hand underneath her sweater.

  Abby froze, her breath catching in her throat. When Duncan cupped her breast and stroked her nipple through her thin, satiny bra, her brain shut down. It felt so damned good she wanted to groan out loud. But that might wake him up, and how would she explain the current situation?

  Duncan murmured a word, a Gaelic word. It sounded like sunshine and warm breezes and a man’s intent. Abby melted inside, her good intentions winnowing away like sand castles at high tide.

  She tried, she really did. “Duncan,” she whispered. “I don’t think you want to do this.” She cupped his face in her hands, feeling the rough growth of a day’s beard. Her lips brushed his cheek, the bridge of his nose. “Wake up, Duncan. Please.”

  “I’m awake,” he muttered. Now he pushed the bra to her armpits and found her bare breasts. He palmed one. Then the other. “Gorgeous,” he said. “So beautiful.”

  Abby forgot to breathe. Her entire body went liquid with pleasure. His fingers teased the tips of her breasts. Tugging, twisting. Then he bent and tasted her, scraping his teeth against her sensitive flesh and biting gently.

  When she cried out, he ripped at her sweater, dragging it and her bra over her head in short order, tangling her hair and leaving her naked from the waist up. Now her remaining clothing frustrated him.

  Abby knew they were careening down a dangerous slope. “Duncan, please.”

  He froze, his chest heaving. He reared up on one elbow. His free hand was at her waistband, struggling with the fastening on her pants.

  His eyes were open. In the faint illumination from the bathroom light, they glittered with intent. “Are ye asking me to stop, lass?”

  It was up to her. She could stand up and walk away, and nothing would happen. The hushed silence after his question seemed to last forever, though it was probably only seconds that passed.

  She was defeated by his misery and his raw need and her own yearning. Everything inside her wanted to give him peace and release. She wanted that and more for herself. She wasn’t going to have Duncan Stewart for any kind of happily-ever-after. But she could have tonight. She would have it.

  “No.” She swallowed hard, trying to find her breath, her courage. “Don’t stop.”

  Six

  Under the circumstances, she expected Duncan to rush madly toward the finish line. He was sleep-deprived and grief stricken and a man at the end of his emotional and physical reserves.

  Duncan had other ideas.

  As she lay trembling and aghast that she hadn’t been smart enough to stop this madness, he unbuttoned and unzipped her pants, dragged them down her legs and tossed them aside. Now she wore nothing but a pair of fairly ordinary bikini panties.

  Duncan pressed two fingertips to the damp fabric covering her sex. She was glad it was dark. Suddenly, she was conscious of her convex tummy and her rounded thighs. He stroked her through the fabric, making her squirm. “I’ve no’ ever seen a more beautifully feminine woman, Abby Hartmann. Ye’re like a feast for my hands and my eyes. I want to gobble you up, and I don’t know where to start.”

  “You could just get on with it,” she muttered. She hadn’t expected him to linger over the first course.

  He stood up long enough to remove his pajama pants but came back to her immediately, dragging her into his embrace and burying his face in her hair. “I wanted you the first moment I saw you, Abby.” He kissed the shell of her ear, his breath hot on her neck. “I don’t think you have a clue what you do to a man. You’re soft and warm and curvy, all the things I’m not. Women are special creatures, beautiful and rare.”

  If any American man of her acquaintance had uttered those words, she might have laughed. Duncan’s sleep-roughened voice and rolling accent made everything he said plausible.

  Then he lapsed into Gaelic and Abby lost her head completely. “Duncan...” she whispered his name, arching her back as he kissed his way from her nose to her chin to her throat and then paused to enjoy her cleavage.

  For a hazy moment, she wondered if she were dreaming. The line between fact and fiction had been blurred tonight. She slid her hands into his hair, winnowing her fingers through the thick, healthy strands...feeling the strong bones of his skull.

  His naked body touched hers everywhere, it seemed. She felt the damp warmth of his skin, tasted the salt of his sweat, heard the harshness of his breathing as his arousal mounted and her own raced to meet and match it. Despite her self-consciousness, for one wild instant, she wanted to turn on every light in the room and feast her eyes on the work of art that was Duncan Stewart.

  He smelled like a man in the best possible way, and in his utter dominance, her femininity unfurled, reveling in the absolute freedom to take what she wanted and demand what she needed.

  When her fingernails raked his back, Duncan choked out a laugh. “Have a care, little cat. You’ll leave a scar. Is that what you want?”

  It was a joke, a lighthearted sexual tease. Her own response stunned her. If marking a man was a primal instinct, then yes. The thought of any other woman having Duncan made her heart weep.

  She soothed the scratches with gentle touches. “My apologies, Mr. Stewart. It’s your own fault. You make me a little crazy.”

  “Only a little? I’ll have to try harder.” He kissed her unexpectedly, his tongue stroking deeply into the recesses of her mouth and stealing every bit of oxygen from her lungs. It was a kiss that lasted forever and yet ended far too soon—in turns sweet and coaxing, then forceful and demanding.

  He moved on top of her now, spreading her legs with his hips, but not joining their bodies. Abby felt faint, half-asleep, wholly dizzy with drugged arousal. She wound her arms around his neck, clinging to the only anchor in the room. Everything else spun dizzily.

  Duncan reached between their bodies and fingered her gently. She was so slick and ready it was almost embarrassing. With an exclamation that might have been a Gaelic curse, he centered the head of his erection at her entrance and pushed steadily.

  * * *

  Duncan had never been very good at self-deception. He knew what he was doing, and he knew there would be repercussions. But he couldn’t have walked away from Abby even to save his own life. In that moment, she was everything to him.

  Her body gloved him in warm, clenching heat. His life was a shit-storm of pain and regret at the moment. Abby offered absolution and escape. He chose the latter without shame or regret. He had wanted her before today. Now he needed her, as well.

  “Am I hurting you?” he groaned. She was tight and so small in his big bed. His height topped hers by at least a dozen inches.

  Abby shook her head. “No.” She toyed with the hair at his nape, sending lightning bolts of heat down his spine to
join the conflagration elsewhere.

  “God, you’re sweet,” he groaned. “I could keep you in this bed for days.” Reality tried to intrude. He ruthlessly pushed it away.

  She canted her hips, forcing him deeper. “I won’t break,” she said, the words shaky. “You don’t have to be so careful with me.”

  “I don’t want to hurt you,” he said roughly, still moving in her as if he could take her like this again and again until dawn. For hours, he had slammed every door that kept his emotions in check. Now Abby’s very softness and transparent caring made his self-protective instincts for naught. He knew she was here to comfort him. He knew, and he took her anyway. What kind of man did that make him?

  Abby sensed his distress and cradled his face in her hands. “Don’t think, Duncan. Only feel. You and me. In this bed. Maybe we’re dreaming, right? Maybe this is as good as it gets. Show me everything, you big stubborn Scotsman. Make me fly.”

  He lost his head after that. His body took over, recklessly chasing a wicked, shocking release that was destined to destroy him so completely he would never be himself again. He felt the press of her bosom against his chest. He smelled the faint scent of her hair and her perfume.

  Her body cradled his perfectly, welcoming his wild lust and transmuting it into something far more unexpected and dangerous. He plunged into her again and again, thrusting himself against the head of her womb until she cried out and shuddered in his arms.

  He waited for her orgasm to take its course. Then he released the almost-superhuman hold he had kept on his own body and groaned her name as he emptied himself into her keeping.

  * * *

  When he woke up, sunlight filled the room, and Abby was gone. Duncan’s head throbbed, though he had consumed no alcohol. Memories swam in his brain with disturbing, drunken chaos. His grandmother’s still, cold shape on the floor. The doctor’s sympathetic gaze. Abby’s warm, naked body in his bed.

  God, what had he done?

  To give himself time to steady his careening emotions, he took a shower, shaved and then sat down in a chair beside the bed with his cell phone. Staring at it, he prepared a speech for his brother and his father. This was tough news to deliver over the phone, particularly from such a distance.

  It hurt to think about Abby right now. His relationship with her, such as it was, represented every bit of guilt he felt about his grandmother. Had he made a huge mistake? Was Abby the enemy in this situation? Did she have a secret agenda? Or were her compassion and gentle caring sincere?

  Because he didn’t know the answer to any of those questions, he shoved them aside and dialed his brother’s number. Today was going to be long and difficult. He might as well get started.

  * * *

  Abby left Duncan’s bed just before dawn, slipping from his embrace with every care not to wake him. She needn’t have worried. He slept deeply, sprawled on his back, his body completely relaxed.

  It wouldn’t last. She knew that. But at least she had given him a few hours of peace and oblivion. Perhaps that would sustain him through the ordeal to follow.

  She went back to her own room and dozed until eight thirty. Then she freshened up and made a plan with Lara via text. When that was done, she scrounged in the kitchen for something to eat. Duncan’s bedroom door was closed. She would not intrude.

  After eating a banana and a cup of yogurt that she didn’t really taste, she went back to her bedroom and called in to work, requesting a few days of vacation. It was a bad time with Mr. Chester out, but he would understand. Isobel Stewart had been a client for decades. Her family certainly deserved an extra measure of attention and care under the circumstances.

  At ten, Duncan still had not appeared. It seemed foolish to worry about a grown man. But Abby began to second-guess herself. Was he hoping she would go away so they wouldn’t have to face each other?

  When Lara arrived, Abby hurried to the front of the house to meet her friend outside. She didn’t want to disturb Duncan’s privacy.

  The morning was crisp and cool. At these altitudes, the first frost would soon dust the rhododendron thickets with white. Lara jumped out of the car and hugged her friend tightly. “Are you okay, honey? This must have been a terrible shock.”

  Abby hadn’t realized she was so close to the edge. Lara’s concern broke down her defenses, and she burst into tears, tears born of stress and lack of sleep and uncertainty about the days to come.

  Lara let her cry, patting her back and holding her close. At last, Abby pulled away and wiped her nose. “I’m sorry. I didn’t know that was going to happen.”

  “You look like hell, darlin’. No offense.”

  “None taken.” Abby shook her head. “I’ve never seen a dead person before, Lara...at least not one that hasn’t been all prettied up in a casket. It was awful. Poor Miss Izzy. Duncan is drowning in guilt that she died alone, and I can’t say that I blame him. I feel pretty awful about it, too. She was excited about me coming by to see her. I’ve worried that it was too much.”

  Lara took her by the shoulders and gave her a little shake. “Don’t be a goose. Most elderly people I know would think this kind of death was a great blessing. No lingering illness. No nursing home. No loss of independence. Miss Izzy died happy. Her grandson moved here to run the company with her. She had everything to live for. I guess her heart gave out. And now she’s with Mr. Stewart, the love of her life.”

  “I hope Duncan will find comfort in that thought. He’s very upset. It was so sudden. She was at work with him yesterday. They had talked on the phone right before he picked me up. Then we got here, and she was on the floor...” Abby put her fist to her mouth, reliving those awful moments.

  Lara curled an arm around her again. “There are worse things in life than death. Duncan will make peace with this. But it will take some time, perhaps.”

  “I want to help him,” Abby said. “With all he has to do. Is that weird?”

  Lara pursed her lips. “Well, I don’t know. Is he going to let you?”

  It was a good question. And one Abby couldn’t answer. She pointed to the back seat. “Is that my suitcase?”

  Lara nodded and lifted it out. “I packed in a hurry, but I think you’ve got enough for a couple of days. Plus, it’s not like you don’t live close. If you think you’ll need your car, let me know, and I’ll figure out a way to get it up here to you.”

  Abby shook her head in bemusement. “You have the best heart of anyone I know, Lara. I don’t know why you have to pretend all the time that you’re a hard-ass.”

  The other woman held up a hand, her expression alarmed. “You keep those wretched opinions to yourself, you hear?”

  “Understood.” Abby hesitated, feeling her neck heat. “There’s one more thing.”

  Lara nodded. “Anything for you, cupcake. Name it.”

  “My father came by the house the other evening. I’ve changed the locks on all the doors. And I didn’t let him in. Will you please drive by occasionally and see if everything looks okay?”

  “Damn it, Abby. Get a restraining order.”

  “That would be public and embarrassing.”

  “You went to court and legally changed your last name to your mother’s maiden name to distance yourself from him. What’s the big deal about one more step? One more piece of paper? You shouldn’t have to live in fear.”

  “He’s not dangerous. I don’t think.”

  Lara scowled. “He’s dangerous to your peace of mind. That’s enough for me to want him gone for good. So, yes. I’ll check on the house. Anything else?”

  Abby’s eyes welled with tears, her emotions too near the surface. “Thank you, Lara. You’re the best.”

  “Well, of course I am.”

  The other woman leaned into the front of the car and extracted a large picnic basket. “Mama and I got up early and started cooking. I know it’s just Duncan,
and you of course, so we didn’t go overboard. But there’s fried chicken and green beans and corn. Plus, rolls and baked apples and pecan pie. Should be enough there for two or three meals if you don’t want to leave the house. Call me if there’s anything in particular he needs. Folks in town want to help, but they don’t know him very well. I promised I’d stay in touch with you.”

  Abby nodded. Small communities like Candlewick were known for their generous support in times of crisis. The Stewart heir would receive many kindnesses, even if he didn’t expect anything to come his way.

  She rested the suitcase on the wooden settee on the porch and picked up the picnic basket. “I should go inside and check on Duncan. I haven’t seen him yet this morning.”

  “He was probably up most of the night after a shock like that. I’m sure I would have been if it were me.”

  Abby bit her lip and swallowed the need to blurt out the truth. Some stories were far too personal to share, even with a beloved girlfriend. “Thanks for everything, Lara. I’ll call you later today when I know something.”

  She waved as her friend drove away, and then turned to set the suitcase just inside the front door. After that she picked up the heavy woven basket, closed the door with her hip and carried the food to the kitchen. Lara’s mom had written out careful instructions for how to refrigerate and reheat each item.

  When Abby rounded the corner and entered the room, Duncan was standing there, staring at the floor. He seemed calm, but she couldn’t read his expression. She cleared her throat. “My friend Lara brought lunch,” she said. “I just need to put a few things away.”

  His head jerked up, and he flushed. He pulled the basket out of her grip and set it aside. Then he took her by the waist and set her up on the counter. His gaze was clear and direct and troubled. “I’m sorry, Abby. About last night. It never should have happened. I’ve been trying to figure out how to apologize.”