On Temporary Terms

by Janice Maynard

  More than anything, she wanted to give him the blissful intimacy he had shown her. Gently, she scooped his testicles into her free hand and stroked him. The effect on Duncan was electric. He tried to sit up, but she snapped out a warning. “Don’t move.”

  He fell back onto the mattress, groaning deep in his chest. He was caught now, his vulnerability trapped in her grasp. With one hand below and the other wrapped around the base of his erection, she moved her mouth up and down, learning intimately the spots that made him shudder with pleasure.

  Unfortunately, Duncan was too primed for much of her gentle torture. She could actually feel the urgency in him, the need to come. With one last carnal kiss, she released him. “Please tell me you have more condoms.”

  “Wallet,” he croaked. “One more.”

  Abby found what she was after and fumbled to tear it open and roll the latex onto Duncan’s shaft. “There,” she sighed. “We’re good to go.”

  What happened next was so fast, Duncan’s movements were a blur. He dragged her to the side of the bed, bent her over and pressed her cheek to the mattress. Then he entered her slowly from behind. With this angle, he felt bigger still. Or perhaps her body was sensitive from his earlier lovemaking.

  Now she was the one pinned and helpless. The feel of him surrounding her, dominating her, ignited her own fuse. She had been on a slow burn, never entirely sated. The way she felt at the moment, one night was never going to be enough. Could she fight for him? Was there any chance at all?

  Duncan slowed his thrusts, backing her away from the precipice. She didn’t want to savor. She wanted the hot flame, the blind rush. “Don’t stop,” she begged. He had one hand on the back of her neck. Her nape tingled.

  “I’m in charge now, Abby,” he said, the words guttural. “You had your chance. Now we’ll do this my way.”

  * * *

  Duncan was drunk with lust and testosterone. He wanted to pound his way to the end, but he also craved the chance to make Abby fly...to scream out his name...to know that in bed, at least, they were perfect together.

  Her heart-shaped ass curved upward to a narrow waist. The line of her spine was feminine and delicate. Her reddish-blond hair made a cute wavy halo around her head.

  “Give me your hands,” he said.

  She shot him a confused look over her shoulder. Her arms were above her head.

  He clarified. “Put your hands behind your back.”

  Slowly, she did as he asked. Now he could manacle her wrists with one hand and steady his other hand on her rounded butt. It was a win-win for any man.

  He gripped her wrists and pumped his hips. Reaching beneath her, he found that one, tiny sensitive spot and stroked it firmly. The keening sound from Abby tore through him like a shot of adrenaline. He kept up his carnal assault until he lost control and had to release her wrists. Now, with both hands caressing her sexy-as-hell butt, he groaned, picked up the pace, and shot them both over the finish line.

  When it was done, he slumped on top of her, wondering what the hell had happened. He’d never gotten off on dominating a woman. Something about Abby made him want to play that game. Perhaps it was the absolute certainty that she was woman enough to meet him halfway and match his brash, demanding love play. How could anything as powerful as this be temporary, or even worse, a female game to manipulate him?

  He tried to breathe, but he had forgotten how. Slowly, moving like an old man, he dragged himself and her up onto the bed and retrieved the covers. “Sleep,” he mumbled. “We need sleep.”

  * * *

  When he surfaced the next morning, it took several long minutes for the fog to clear. He and Abby had found each other twice more during the night. The memories of sex were dreamlike, but the pleasurable aches in his body were very real.

  He squinted toward the window where a weak ray of sunshine peeked in around the curtains. An hour ago, barely conscious, he had stumbled to the bathroom and taken care of urgent business. Afterward, he had fallen immediately back into bed.

  Now, Abby was curled into a ball with her bottom pressed to his pelvis. He stroked her hair lazily, trying to process what had happened. Yesterday had encompassed a wealth of emotional turmoil and difficult experiences. His deep gratitude for Abby’s support didn’t come close to explaining why he had just experienced the most amazing night of sex in his life.

  She opened her eyes, shifted onto her back and looked up at him. “Hello.”

  He cupped her cheek and kissed her nose. “Hello, yourself.” He liked her like this, all drowsy and vulnerable.

  “What time is it?”

  He rolled away momentarily and glanced at the clock on the bedside table. “Ten.”

  Abby squeaked. “Please tell me you hung out the Do Not Disturb sign.”

  “I did.”

  “We have to check out.”

  “Yeah.” The reluctance he heard in her voice mirrored the feelings in his gut. “What if I order room service? I’ll let you have the bathroom first.”

  “That would be nice.”

  “What would you like? Eggs? Pastries?”

  Her lips quirked. “At the risk of sounding unladylike, order it all. I’m starving.”

  “Well, you did work off quite a few calories last night.” He said it with a straight face.

  A tiny frown appeared between her perfect brows. “Are you mocking me, Mr. Stewart? How rude.”

  He nuzzled her neck and cupped the closest breast, closing his eyes and breathing a sigh of bliss. “No mocking, lass. Only a reminder.” He took her chin and turned her to meet his lips. “I’m verra grateful for all the aerobic activity. You keep a man on his toes, wicked girl.”

  Abby smirked and kissed him warmly. “You’re not so bad yourself.”

  When he tried to slide his hand between her warm thighs, she batted it away. “No time for that. You promised me food.”

  With a long-suffering sigh, he stood up and stretched. “If you insist.”

  For the second time, he availed himself of the facilities in the sitting room. Grabbing jeans and a navy knit Henley, he made short work of cleaning up and getting dressed. Fortunately, he was close enough to the front door to hear when the bellman delivered the meal.

  Abby appeared just as Duncan was tipping the hotel employee. Like Duncan, she had opted for jeans and a knit shirt. Hers was pink. A pale pink that clung to her breasts and made him want to say to hell with the meal and take her straight back to bed.

  He had ordered an obscene amount of food. Between them, they devoured it all.

  His breakfast guest stared at the empty tray as she drank her second cup of coffee. “Wow. I think I’m embarrassed.”

  “I like a woman with a hearty appetite...for everything.”

  Now her cheeks were pinker than her shirt. “The sun is up. We shouldn’t be thinking about sex.”

  “Well, you’re out of luck, because I’m always thinking about sex when I’m around you.”

  “Really?”

  It occurred to him that she thought he was kidding. He leaned over, put a hand behind her head and pulled her close enough to give her a hungry kiss. “Really, Abby.”

  When he released her, they were both breathing hard. “Stay at the house with me this week,” he said impulsively.

  Abby bit her lip. “I don’t think that’s a good idea. I will help you every day. I promised you I would. But I’ll go home in the evenings.”

  He scowled, feeling remarkably surly for a man who had spent the better part of the night in nirvana. “Why?”

  She shrugged, her expression hard to read. “I’d rather make the break now. You’re leaving soon. This is hard enough already, because I care about you. Not to mention the fact that you’re going to have people in and out of the house this week. I can’t risk the gossip, Duncan. When you’re nothing but a memory, I still have to
live and work here. My job and my reputation are important to me.”

  His temper skyrocketed. “So this is it?”

  “What do you want from me?”

  Only the pain in her eyes kept him from yelling at her. He tempered his response with difficulty. “Maybe you could give me a chance to figure a few things out.”

  “To what end? I live here. You live there. We’ve had great sex, and that’s about the only thing we have in common. I don’t want to talk about this anymore. Take me back to Candlewick, please.”

  * * *

  The hour-long trip home was awkward at first, neither of them speaking at all. Eventually, he decided he was too tired to stay mad. Abby’s rules made sense, even if he didn’t like them.

  He reached across the space separating them and took her hand. “We’ll handle this however you think is best. And I won’t hold you to your promise to help.”

  She squeezed his fingers. “You need me for a few days. You can’t simply let a company come in and take it all. I know you think you don’t want anything, but there might be valuables we need to find...if not for you personally, then perhaps for Brody’s kids. Or yours.”

  “I don’t plan on having kids,” he said, putting both hands on the wheel.

  “Oh?”

  “Too much responsibility. And it’s not fair to the kids when the parents break up.”

  “You speak from experience.”

  “Yeah. I told you before that I don’t like secrets. That was the problem with my parents. They thought they were protecting Brody and me by shielding us from the problems they were having. They kept up appearances...never argued and yelled in front of us. I suppose on the surface that seemed like the civilized thing to do.”

  “But it wasn’t?”

  “Hell, no. Brody and I were completely blindsided when they split up. It tore the ground from beneath our feet. We felt stupid and betrayed. I don’t know what we would have done without Granny and Grandda to look after us in the midst of all the nastiness when everything imploded.”

  “Not all marriages end.”

  “But a lot of them do. So I’d just as soon not take the chance.” He took a deep breath, his hands white-knuckled on the steering wheel. “Can we change the subject, please?”

  “Of course.”

  Several miles passed in silence before Abby spoke again. “Tell me about working for your brother,” she said. “Do you enjoy it?”

  “I do.” In fact, he missed being at his desk with the view of the loch more than he realized he would.

  “And are water and boats your passion like they are for Brody?”

  Duncan chuckled. “Not entirely. I love Skye. ’Tis a beautiful place to grow up. But for me, it’s the mountains that call. A couple of years ago, I began climbing the Munros in Scotland. I’ve managed twenty-three so far.”

  “Munros? I don’t know what that means.”

  “In Scotland, it’s the term we use for any summit that’s over three thousand feet. There are almost three hundred in all. So I’ve quite a way to go. When I thought I’d be living here with Granny, I had explored the idea of hiking in the Blue Ridge. I fell in love with your mountains when Brody and I spent summers here as kids.”

  “We do have some spectacular ones. Very different from Scotland, I’d say.”

  “Indeed. Ours are mostly bare and windswept. Here, you have peaks twice as tall and very hard to get to.”

  “Well,” Abby said with a cheerfulness that was clearly forced, “maybe you’ll find time to take at least one hike before you leave.”

  After that, they were both silent again. The easy intimacy they had shared during the night didn’t hold up in the light of day. Plus, Abby seemed determined to remind him he was leaving.

  When they arrived in the outskirts of Candlewick, Duncan steered the car up the mountain. He wasn’t about to give Abby an opportunity to ask if he would drop her off at her house.

  His grandparents’ home already looked sad and abandoned. It made no sense, really. Nothing had changed except for the inhabitants.

  Duncan unloaded their bags. Someone had left two flower arrangements on the front porch. While he read the sympathy cards, Abby kept her distance. After last night, the walls she was trying to erect between them pissed him off, even though he didn’t really know what he wanted from her. Was he afraid that she was angling for marriage and children?

  Inside, he stared at her. “Lunch?”

  “I won’t need anything until dinner,” she said, her gaze not meeting his. “I think I’ll get started on that first bedroom.”

  “Fine. Suit yourself.”

  “What will you do?”

  “I suppose I’ll tackle the office. Granny tried cleaning it out when Brody and Cate were here with her, but it was too much. She made me promise to do it with her.”

  Abby came to him then and put her arms around his waist, resting her cheek on his chest. “I’m sorry she’s gone, Duncan.”

  He held her tightly. “Aye. She was a hell of a woman. I hope she and Grandda can’t see what I’m about to do.”

  “You have to decide what you think is best for you and your family. That’s all anyone can ask.”

  She took a step back, and he was forced to release her. “I found trash bags in the kitchen yesterday,” she said. “I’ll use white ones for things we’re donating and the black ones for stuff that needs to be thrown out. Is that okay with you?”

  Suddenly, the whole damn situation suffocated him. His grandparents’ business empire. Abby’s expectations of him, both personally and as a lawyer. His own ambivalence about everything. “Do what you want,” he said curtly. “I don’t really care.”

  When she turned on her heel and walked away from him, he wanted to drag her back and apologize. But maybe it was better this way. If she thought he was a jerk, she wouldn’t want him to hang around...right?

  Though his heart wasn’t in it, he went to his grandfather’s office and began the daunting task of separating wheat from chaff. The detritus of decades-filled drawers and covered tabletops. There were hundreds of maps and architectural drawings. He felt comfortable pitching all that because the important ones could be found downtown at Stewart Properties headquarters.

  It was galling to admit that Abby had been right. Almost immediately, he had to begin filling a box with small items that were too valuable or too historically significant to pitch. Maybe a local museum would like to have the knickknacks and programs from the 1950s and 1960s. All of it was interesting, but if Duncan began reading each little pamphlet and check and receipt, he’d be here until the end of time.

  A second, larger box was required for the cloth-bound notebooks. His grandparents had both kept journals, particularly from the years when they struggled to establish their business. In the prosperity of post–World War II, Isobel and Geoffrey’s foresight in predicting the upcoming tourist boom had given them an edge in the empire they began so modestly.

  One glance at a few of the entries was enough to tell Duncan that his brother and sister-in-law would want to see these. Once he had them all together, he could seal the box and ship it to Scotland. It would cost a fortune, but it would be worth it.

  After a couple of hours, be began to feel a sense of accomplishment. He worked quickly but methodically, ignoring the urge to go down the hall and see how Abby was faring.

  If she wanted distance between them, he would try to comply, even if it killed him. She was right about one thing. It would be damned easy to fall in love. And there was nothing for her in Scotland. Her career was right here in Candlewick. Reading between the lines, Duncan felt certain that her boss planned for Abby to take over one day. Why else would the man have devoted to much time and attention to her schooling?

  Duncan tucked the last two journals in the box but left the top open in case he found more. As he bent to set
the heavy carton on the floor in the corner, he spotted the edge of something sticking out from behind the large oak filing cabinet.

  It was a large, heavy vellum envelope. His grandfather’s scrawling handwriting was immediately recognizable. Clearly, the envelope had never been opened. On the front were the words My Dearest Isobel. The salutation was innocuous enough, but for some reason, dread slithered through Duncan’s veins. What could his grandfather have written that was only now coming to light over a year after the old man’s death?

  Fourteen

  Abby straightened, yawned and stretched to get the kinks out of her back. She had carried multiple armloads of clothing from the closet to the bed so she could go through the pockets. Even so, she’d done a lot of bending and lifting. Her nose itched, probably from the scent of all the mothballs. Isobel had been determined that no feckless moth would ever get a crack at her and Geoffrey’s winter wardrobes.

  In two hours, Abby had made a huge dent in cleaning out this particular guest room. The closet was now empty, as were all the drawers in the furniture and in the bathroom. All that was left was to strip the bed.

  Sadly, Duncan had been right about the fact that most things would end up in the rubbish bin. Much of the clothing was too dated to donate but not old enough to be of interest to a museum. Hence the fact that Abby now had a dozen huge trash bags ready to go to a Dumpster when the time was right.

  When it came to finding valuable things to keep, so far she had collected seven sticks of spearmint chewing gum, four orphaned buttons, and a Carter for President button. The only possible standout in her collection was a small gold tie tack in the shape of a fleur-de-lis.

  She put the odds and ends on the bedside table and went into the bathroom to splash her face with cold water. Her lack of sleep the night before was beginning to catch up with her. In the mirror, her eyes were bright. Despite the hard work, she was happy to be here with Duncan.

  Making a face at her reflection, she sighed. “Stupid woman. You should run. This isn’t going to end well for you.”

  Mirror Abby didn’t seem any more sensible than her flesh-and-blood twin. She returned to the bedroom and found Duncan standing in the doorway. When she smiled at him, he didn’t seem to notice. His face was dead white and his hands clenched an envelope.