Every Waking Moment

by Doreen Roberts

  A tiny part of her mind hoped that if she shared her past with him, he might just be encouraged to return the confidence. Although she rather doubted it. He’d locked his past away, apparently, and had no intention of divulging it to anyone—least of all, her.

  “I already told you I grew up in foster homes,” she began, feeling intensely vulnerable now that she’d made the decision.

  “Yes, you did. It must have been rough on you as a kid.”

  “It was. No matter what the circumstances of your birth, no matter how well-meaning the intentions of your mother, it is never easy to accept the fact that you were given away. The ultimate rejection, I guess, before you’ve even begun to live. It places a chip on your shoulder that is almost impossible to get rid of.”

  “I can imagine.”

  She heard the compassion in his voice, and her pulse leaped. The words were coming more easily now that she felt assured of his sympathy.

  “By the time I was six,” she continued, “I’d been in three different foster homes. I wanted desperately to be adopted, but I wasn’t an easy child to control. According to the nuns at the orphanage, I was rebellious, disobedient and unruly. Not a very good attitude for someone needing a home.”

  “You were looking for attention,” Blake said quietly.

  “I was looking for love.” She paused to take a sip of wine. “Soon after my sixth birthday, I was sent to yet another foster home. This one was different. Elaine and David Matthews were used to dealing with problem children—they already had eleven foster kids at home.”

  She sighed, remembering those brief days of peace and happiness. “They were wonderful,” she said, her eyes misting at the memory. “For the first time in my life I felt as though I belonged. I slowly learned to let go of the bitterness, and managed to get along reasonably well with the rest of the kids. As for Elaine and David, I absolutely adored them.

  “I stopped running away to hide every time something didn’t go the way I wanted it to. I stopped pretending I couldn’t hear when someone asked me to do something I didn’t want to do. I began to behave like a normal human being, instead of like a trapped animal fighting for survival.”

  She closed her fingers around the glass, her mind slipping away to another time. “But then Elaine got sick and couldn’t take care of us anymore. The older children did their best to hold things together, but when the authorities realized what was happening, they took the younger ones away. I was one of those who had to leave.”

  “God,” Blake muttered. “How old were you?”

  “I was nine years old. Too young to deal with the pain, too old to escape it anymore. I felt betrayed. I blamed my foster parents bitterly for hurting me. They’d taught me how to love, only to throw me out as soon as things started to go wrong. At least, that’s the way I saw things then.”

  She let out a troubled sigh. “I know better now, of course, but back then all I knew was that it hurt so badly I wanted to die. I made up my mind that I would never let anyone betray me like that again. If that’s what happened when you loved someone, then I wanted no part of it.”

  “Until you met Frank.”

  She lifted her chin. “Frank? No, I wasn’t in love with him. As soon as I was old enough to make it on my own, I left Seattle and moved to Portland. I wanted to start a new life in a new town. And, for a long time, I was very happy living on my own. I was completely independent, free to go anywhere I pleased, do anything I wanted without having to answer to anyone but myself.”

  “But then you got lonely?”

  She shrugged. “I guess.”

  “I know how that goes.”

  She looked at him, struck by the irony in his voice. “Is that why you got married?”

  He smiled gently at her. “This is your story, not mine.”

  Feeling frustrated, she went on. “Well, anyway, I woke up on my thirtieth birthday and realized that time was passing me by. I had casual acquaintances, but no real friends. I wouldn’t let myself get too close to anyone. I guess I was afraid of being hurt again. But there were times I felt miserable because I didn’t really matter to anyone. I could have been struck down by a bus and no one would really have missed me. It became more and more important to me that I mattered to someone before I died.”

  “So you decided to get married?”

  She shook her head. “No, I decided I wanted a baby. I was watching kids play in the park one day, and I realized that what I really wanted was a child of my own. Someone who needed me. Someone who would love me and care about what happened to me.”

  “And, in order to have a baby, you had to have a man.”

  “Exactly.”

  “But why Frank Stevens? You’re an attractive woman, with a very warm, generous personality. You must have had better choices.”

  The unexpected compliment was almost her undoing. She recovered enough to smile naturally. “I guess it was something I drifted into. I’d worked for Frank in the furniture store for five years. His wife had died several years earlier and he seemed lonely. He proposed a couple of times, more in fun than anything, but I began to wonder if perhaps he really wanted to marry me.

  “We seemed to get along well, and he was fun to be around. He had a thriving business, and I felt I could offer him companionship in return for the security he could give me and my baby when it came along. The next time he proposed, I accepted.”

  “A nice cozy arrangement.”

  Again she heard the irony in his voice and looked up sharply. “All right, so it wasn’t the best idea I’d ever had. I didn’t know that the Frank who chatted with the customers all day was very different from the real man behind that phony benevolent image. I thought he was strong and protective, when in reality he was jealous and possessive.

  “After we’d been married for a while he would fly into a rage if I so much as smiled at a male customer. He wanted complete control of my life, to the point where I had to ask his permission to go somewhere without him. He told me what to wear, what to eat, where I could go and who I could see. If I resisted, he became ugly.”

  “So why did you stay with him?”

  She waited until the bitterness had ebbed a little before replying. “By the time I realized what a mess I’d made of things, I was pregnant. I knew I wouldn’t be able to provide a decent life for my baby on my own and I was terrified she would be taken away from me—or worse, given to Frank. I decided to stay just long enough to get some kind of security—a better education and a better-paying job.”

  “That was six years ago.”

  She nodded. “Much to my surprise, Frank was good with Heather. He adored her. He always bought her gifts and showed her off to the customers. She loved him back, off course. How could I take her away from someone she loved so much?”

  Blake shook his head. “You couldn’t, after the kind of childhood you’d had.”

  “Right. I knew the pain of being torn from someone I loved. I couldn’t do that to Heather.”

  “So you were prepared to stay with him.”

  “At least until Heather was old enough to be on her own.”

  “But then along came Mike Stevens.”

  Gail sighed. “He was always in the picture, right from the start. I always had the feeling that something bad would happen with him, but I never dreamed he would kill his brother.”

  “Did you know that Frank was involved in dealing in stolen goods?”

  She shook her head. “Not until after we were married, and even then I wasn’t sure. I never had any real proof, just a sort of hunch. I knew Mike was evil, of course. I didn’t know how deeply Frank was involved with him until after he died. He was very good at hiding behind that image. That’s why everyone believed I was guilty. The man they knew would never fight with his wife over another man unless there was some truth to it.”

  She pushed back her chair and got to her feet. “If only I could have made them see what he was really like, I might have had a chance to clear my name. As it is now, the
re’ll. always be suspicion about me.” She glanced up at the clock. “Now I’d better cook dinner, before we both starve to death.”

  She felt emotionally exhausted as she prepared to grill the steaks. Talking about her past had brought it all back—all the misery and fear. Some day she would have to bury it and try to forget. Only she couldn’t do that while Mike, was out there somewhere, doing his best to destroy her life.

  She kept the conversation on more mundane topics during dinner. Blake seemed disinclined to talk, appearing to be deep in thought, to the point where she began to worry about him.

  He’d promised to keep her informed about everything, but she had the feeling he was holding something back. Something that he didn’t want her to know.

  “I’ve got to call headquarters,” he finally said, when she stood and began to clear the dishes away.

  “You can use the phone in the living room.” She carried the plates over to the sink. “You’ll have some privacy there.”

  He hesitated, almost as if he were reluctant to leave her alone, but then he went into the living room and closed the door behind him.

  She could hear him talking, but his voice was too muffled for her to hear what he said. The conversation was brief, however, as he returned to the kitchen a short while later.

  “Still no news,” he said, when she sent him a questioning look. “The way it’s snowing out there, I doubt if anyone will move far on these roads tonight. I figure we’ll be all right for the night, at least.”

  She nodded, her nerves tightening at the thought of spending the night alone in her bedroom, listening to every sound. “I hope so.”

  “Thanks for the dinner. I enjoyed it.”

  She shrugged. “You bought it.”

  “You cooked it. That’s the tough part.”

  “Anyone can cook a steak.”

  “Not me. I’m one of those men who can’t boil an egg without messing it up.”

  She glanced up at him. “You must eat out a lot.”

  “Or order in. You can’t imagine how much I enjoy a home-cooked meal.”

  “Well, if you’re still here tomorrow night, I’ll have to try out one of my famous casseroles on you.”

  “I’ll look forward to it.”

  Maybe it was her imagination again, but she had the distinct impression that Blake was feeling uncomfortable about something. She wondered if he’d heard some news that he wasn’t sharing with her. In spite of his promise, she was well aware that in his position, he might not be free to tell her everything.

  She turned away from him, reaching up to put the steak sauce back in the cupboard. She must have been even more unnerved than she realized. The bottom of the bottle didn’t: quite clear the shelf. The blow knocked the bottle from her hand and it fell to the counter with a deafening clatter.

  “Darn,” she muttered, as the cap fell off and sauce oozed out onto the countertop. “I don’t know why I’m so clumsy lately.”

  She reached for the paper-towel dispenser, and then flinched as Blake closed his fingers over her arm. “Just relax,” he said softly. “I’m here to take care of you, remember?”

  “I know.” To her dismay her voice wobbled and she cleared her throat. “It’s just...” She looked helplessly up at him, her throat working, unable to finish the sentence.

  He stood very still, his fingers grasping her arm. She could smell the lingering traces of his musky cologne. His eyes seemed darker, softer, almost as if he were pleading with her, although she couldn’t imagine why.

  The birth of a faint beard shadowed his jaw, and she noticed for the first time a tiny scar at the corner of his mouth. Without warning, the memory of how that mouth had possessed hers filled her mind with hot, suffocating clarity.

  From deep within her, a sigh arose and escaped from her parted lips. She heard him draw a harsh breath and fought to breathe naturally herself. She could feel the heat now, gathering momentum, threatening to overwhelm her.

  She tried to draw her hand away, but his fingers clamped tighter. Now his eyes burned with the same heat that coursed through her veins. Very slowly, he moved his hand up her arm to her shoulder.

  She wanted his kiss as she’d never wanted anything in her life before. Yet she was afraid, knowing that if he so much as touched her mouth with his lips, she would be lost, helpless to resist the torrent of need already simmering deep inside her.

  This time she didn’t have Heather sleeping peacefully down the hallway to bring her to her senses. This time, there would be nothing to suppress the mad craving that he so easily aroused in her.

  She made one last effort to fight the temptation clawing at her mind. Already she was falling in love with him. If she gave in to this madness, she knew, without a doubt, that she would give much more than her body. She could lose her soul to this man.

  If only she could be certain that he wanted her for the same emotional reasons that had driven her into his arms. If only she could be sure that she wasn’t just a means of satisfying a physical need. If only he would say something, instead of gazing at her with that little-boy-lost look in his eyes.

  At last he spoke, destroying the last of her resistance. “Gail,” he muttered, “if you go on looking at me like that, I’m not going to be responsible for what happens next.”

  All at once she didn’t care. So what if he walked away afterward? So what if he broke her heart? All her life she had wondered what it would be like to make love with a man she could really care for—a man who could set her on fire with just the touch of his fingers. A man who could teach her what it was really like to be a woman, in every sense of the word.

  This was the man, and now was her opportunity. She could walk away and go on wondering for the rest of her life. Or she could take what was offered and accept the consequences later. At least she would have one hell of a memory to take with her.

  Raising her hands, she placed them on his chest. She could feel his heartbeat through the fabric of his denim shirt. Beneath her fingers lay the very essence of this man, and the knowledge filled her with a bittersweet tenderness. For a little while, at least, he would belong to her.

  “Gail.” His voice was husky with emotion, and desire burned in his eyes. “You don’t know what you’re doing.”

  “Oh yes, I do.” Deliberately she slid her hands up to his neck. The movement brought her breasts in contact with his chest, and again she heard his sharp intake of breath.

  “Dammit, Gail, I’m not made of stone.”

  “Then show me what you are made of.”

  With a groan of despair he cupped her head with his hands and sought her mouth in a deep, lingering kiss. She could feel the impact of it in every pore of her body.

  If she’d had any shred of doubt left, it was swept away in the fury of his passion. His hands roamed over her, urgent and demanding, until the tug of need for him grew painful.

  She gasped when he lifted the hem of her sweater and dragged it over her head. She closed her eyes when his lips touched the soft swell of her breasts, while his fingers expertly unfastened her bra:

  The craving took hold, as every atom of her body came to quivering life. With a quick movement she slipped the straps of her bra down over her shoulders and freed her breasts for him.

  Gently he cupped them in his warm hands. “God,” he whispered. “I never realized just how beautiful you are.”

  She wanted to cry at the reverence in his voice. It amazed her that this man, so rugged, so relentless at times, could, be so warm and tender, could make her feel so desirably feminine.

  With infinite care, she undid the buttons on his shirt and tugged it open. His chest was smooth, and tinted with the light gold of a faded tan. She ran her fingers through the dense triangle of dark hair, then clasped her hands behind his back as she pressed herself against him. “You feel so good,” she whispered.

  “Gail.”

  She looked up at him, her breath catching at the searing heat of his gaze.

  “I can’t
make you any promises,” he said haltingly.

  “I know.”

  “I want you to understand that, before—”

  “I do. I don’t need promises, Blake. All I’ll ever ask from you is that you are honest with me.”

  “Always.”

  She became impatient, determined to ignore what wasn’t important right now. She wanted to tell him something. Something she’d never said to any man before. Holding on to him tightly, she looked deep into his gray eyes. “I want you, Blake.”

  “Oh, Gail, I want you, too.”

  “Then take me to bed.”

  “Are you sure?”

  She smiled, remembering her words to Darcie. “I’ve never been more sure.” Pulling back, she reached for his belt. Her fingers trembled as she struggled to unfasten the buckle. He waited patiently, although she could feel the tension holding him rigid.

  Carefully she eased his jeans down, then waited for him to get rid of his shoes and socks before taking them off entirely. His thighs were thick and solid—the thighs of a trained athlete.

  She ran her hands up them slowly, enjoying the feel of hard muscle beneath her palms.

  “Do you have any idea what you’re doing to me?” he muttered hoarsely.

  “Arousing you, I hope.”

  “I don’t think I’m leaving you in any doubt there.”

  “Then what are we waiting for?” She had never felt such an exhilarating sense of power. This new aggressiveness was so completely opposite to anything she’d experienced before. She liked it—liked the effect she had on this man who had once intimidated her with his own forbidding power and strength.

  They finished undressing each other, and when they were both naked, she took his hand and led him into the bedroom.

  She left the bedside lamp on, eager to see his body while she explored it. She couldn’t help marveling at how he’d managed to instill in her so much confidence and daring: She had never felt quite so reckless.