No Exchanges, No Returns

by Laurie Kellogg

  Regardless, he would have to make some changes in his life. Casey was right about him working way too many hours. The last three nights, he hadn’t gotten home until nearly nine, well after a young child should already be asleep.

  Throughout his childhood, even when his dad had been preparing a brief or researching a point of law in the evening, he’d usually been home for dinner, to tuck David in, and read to him. He’d always been there, listening to David’s prayers at night and later to his problems and his hopes and dreams.

  At least, until James died.

  Casey’s question from a few weeks ago echoed in David’s memory. Are you sure it’s your parents’ expectations you’ve been trying to fill, and not your own?

  Maybe she had a valid point. Was his need to be a success really for his parents? Or was it merely a way to ease his survivor’s guilt and justify his life?

  Now that he was about to become a father himself, he couldn’t envision his parents wanting anything but his happiness. Any prodding or pressuring they’d done had probably been because they’d thought they were shoving him toward something he wanted.

  He thought back to those first months after the accident and the pain that had shadowed his dad’s eyes whenever he’d poked his head into David’s room to say goodnight.

  It had been agonizing to look at his father—much less talk to him. Although, not just because of his guilt feelings. He’d felt totally unworthy to be alive and hadn’t understood why God had chosen to let him live and condemned his brother to die.

  Was it possible his dad hadn’t stopped listening?

  Perhaps, in reality, David had simply quit talking.

  ~*~

  Coffee. Marc rolled over and patted the opposite side of the mattress, finding it empty. He sniffed the air again, and his stomach growled. Umm....and bacon.

  It seemed odd he could smell breakfast all the way upstairs in his bedroom. Hearing soft footsteps, he cracked one eye open and watched Brianna set a tray filled with food and the morning newspaper on the nightstand. She’d obviously been up a while since she’d already applied some makeup and was wearing the short blonde wig they’d purchased the week before. Except for being a little thinner, she looked almost like her old self—beautiful and incredibly sexy in a slinky black nightie she’d traded for the night shirt she’d worn to bed the night before.

  His morning erection twitched under the sheet and turned harder than surgical steel. The lingerie was a very good omen.

  “Oh, man, breakfast in bed. You must feel pretty chipper this morning.”

  “I do. I figured since you’ve been spoiling me the last month, it’s only fair I indulge you on your day off.”

  Ever since he’d convinced her to move in with him last week, his life had been amazing. He loved coming home to her every night. Her wry sense of humor made every day a joy and a challenge for him. Sure she had a few rough moments when she could barely crawl out of bed, but there were more good days than bad.

  He grabbed her hand and pulled her onto the mattress with him. “Dare I hope this indulgence will include a little morning nooky?”

  “You can do more than hope.” She kissed him softly. “You can count on it.”

  “Umm....I was hoping the nightgown meant I was about to get lucky. It won’t take much for you to seduce me.”

  All she had to do was smile.

  She glanced at the tented sheet and chuckled. “How can I seduce you if you’re already that eager?” She rolled off the bed, unfolded the legs on his breakfast tray, and set it over his lap, shielding his arousal. “Before there’s any seducing, you should eat your breakfast while it’s still hot.”

  As she crawled back onto the mattress next to him, he picked up his fork and dug into the food. While she read him the Tribune’s comics, he fed her some of the mealy scrambled eggs and half-charred bacon in between his own mouthfuls.

  “You know,” he mumbled past a bite of cardboard toast, “for a woman who doesn’t want me to love her, you’re doin’ a piss-poor job of discouraging me.”

  “You mean my burnt offerings aren’t enough to make you run the other way?”

  “This is delicious.”

  “Liar. You’ve got every kitchen gadget ever invented, so I know your wife must’ve been a culinary genius.”

  Genius might be a bit of an exaggeration, however, his late wife’s cooking skills had definitely been such that she could’ve hosted a show on the Food Network.

  Still, a man did not live by bread alone, and fine cuisine could be bought. Mind-blowing sex, on the other hand, wasn’t quite as easy to find—at least not legally.

  He turned and nibbled on Brianna’s ear, whispering, “You may not be a great chef, Angel, but you sure as hell know how to cook in the boudoir.”

  “I do, do I?”

  She was every man’s idea of the perfect woman—a sophisticated lady in the parlor and an imaginative courtesan in the bedroom.

  Francie’s already low libido had been killed completely by her chemo, whereas the only adverse sexual side effect Brianna had experienced so far was some minor vaginal dryness, which adding a little lubricant during foreplay had solved.

  “Marry me,” he whispered.

  She stiffened next to him. When she didn’t answer, he tipped her face toward him and stared into her eyes. “I love you, Angel. And I want you to be my wife more than anything I’ve ever wanted. Will you please do me the honor and marry me?”

  She jerked her chin away from his hand. “Did I tell you I auditioned yesterday?”

  “Ignoring my question isn’t going to stop me from asking again. And what do you mean, you auditioned? For what?”

  “As temporary vocalist in a band. It’s how I put myself through college. I’m really very good.”

  If she managed to pay her tuition with her voice, he didn’t doubt it. Although, her success probably had as much to do with her being drop-dead gorgeous as her ability to sing.

  “I’m not up to going back to my full-time job yet, but there’s no reason I can’t work a few evenings a week for a couple of hours. I’m going stir-crazy, sitting around the house all day.”

  He set the breakfast tray on the floor next to the bed. “And what’s this band supposed to do on the nights the side effects from your chemo are too much for you?”

  “I told the guys my situation, and they liked me so much they’re willing to be flexible. The lead guitarist’s voice is passable, so he’ll sing at any gigs I can’t make. And besides, it’s only for a month until their regular vocalist comes back.”

  As much as it would be good for her to get out of the house, he hated the idea of her standing on stage, singing to a bunch of drunks while every man in the crowd undressed her with his eyes.

  She was all his. Or at least, he wanted her to be.

  “Damn it, Brianna, stop evading my question.”

  “I just answered it. The band is—”

  “No—the first one. Will you marry me? Or don’t you love me?”

  “No.” She folded up the newspaper. “There, are you satisfied?”

  “Which are you saying no to? You won’t be my wife? Or you don’t love me?”

  Anguish clouded her usually clear blue eyes. “No to both.”

  “I don’t believe you.” He threw back the covers and rolled on top of her, pinning her to the mattress while he nibbled on her throat and shoulders, something he knew would leave her panting with need. He slid his hand between her legs and smiled at how wet she’d become even without the lubricant. “You’re dripping. Admit it, you want me.”

  “Yes.” She gasped, arching her back and spreading her legs wider for him. “But that doesn’t mean I love you.”

  “Again, you’re lying.” He brushed the head of his penis over her slick opening, teasing her. “You’re not the kind of woman who can have sex like this without your heart getting involved.”

  “So what? I never said I didn’t care for you. The last thing you need is to lose another
wife.”

  “I don’t intend to.” He rubbed against her heat without penetrating her, making her wiggle. “And I think that’s a choice I’m entitled to make for myself.”

  “Take me, already, you bastard.” She panted, her nails scoring his back.

  “Unh-uh.” He grabbed her wrists and imprisoned them while he sucked her nipples, murmuring into her breasts, “I’m not pokin’ you until you admit you’re in love with me.”

  She writhed frantically beneath him until she finally wrenched her hands free. Clutching his haunches, she pulled him closer in an attempt to force him into her. “Damn you! Shove that thing inside me—fast and hard.”

  He chuckled, amused at the way she refused to use any four-letter words and yet got as horny as a bitch in heat whenever he talked dirty to her.

  Gritting his teeth, he slid just the tip of his throbbing shaft inside her, torturing himself as much as her. “Now admit my cock’s the only one you want.”

  “Yes!”

  “And you love the way I fuck you.”

  “Yes,” she sobbed, lifting her hips, attempting to impale herself on him. “Pleeease! Just help me forget I’m dying.”

  No. He closed his eyes, blocking out the sight of her tears as he drove into her heat, burying himself as deeply inside her as he could. He refused to acknowledge that he might eventually lose her. He wanted Brianna for however long she had to live—be it ten months or fifty years.

  Chapter 14

  Casey shivered as she stepped inside the French doors to fix dinner and laid the portable phone on the counter. The house felt like a meat locker compared to the sultry mid-August afternoon. After weeding the flower beds she’d planted around the house, she’d spent two hours floating in the pool like an over-inflated beach ball.

  Rubbing the goose bumps waddling down her arms, she padded barefoot into the laundry room. She pulled one of David’s warm oxford shirts out of the dryer and slipped it over her damp maternity swimsuit. The shirt’s hem hung nearly to her knees and the cuffs covered her hands.

  She rolled up the sleeves, then proceeded to put the rest of his shirts on hangers. She froze at the doorbell’s peal echoing through the house. She lumbered to the front door as fast as her belly would let her. Sometimes she wondered if it might not be easier to just lie down and roll rather than walk.

  Furrowing her forehead, she peered through the peephole. The sight of Judy Lambert standing on the front porch stole her breath.

  Casey forced a smile and swung the door wide. “What a nice surprise,” she fibbed. “David didn’t tell me you were coming to visit.”

  “That’s because he didn’t know.” Judy stepped into the foyer wearing a floral print sundress and, as usual, with every perfect strand of her auburn hair in place. Her eyes widened as her gaze bounced between the dining and living rooms and ran up the hallway. “I see my son finally hired a decorator. It’s a bit too neutral for my taste but very classy.”

  Casey smiled inwardly. It was nice to know her work looked professional. As much as she’d love to tell his mother she’d been responsible for the dramatic transformation, it wouldn’t help endear her to the woman.

  Judy turned her attention to Casey and studied her wet straggly hair and the oversized shirt she wore. “I’m happy David’s birthday gift can double as a bathrobe.”

  Of all the shirts Casey could have put on, it figured she’d choose one his mother had given him.

  “David just called and said he’d be home in about a half hour. Would you like a glass of iced tea while you wait, or would you prefer something stronger?”

  “Tea will be fine.” Judy followed her down the hall to the kitchen. “The reason I stopped was to pick up some cosmetics Brianna agreed to donate to fill a door prize basket for a charity luncheon. She called yesterday and told me the box is on the shelf in the garage.”

  “Sure, I’ll go get it right now. How is my sister?” Casey asked over her shoulder, leading the way through the laundry room. “I haven’t talked to her in over a week.”

  “She seems happy enough. She tried to convince me the divorce was completely her decision and you had nothing to do with it.”

  Darn her. Casey had asked her sister to stay out things between her and Judy. She opened the garage door and scanned the shelves next to it. Her gaze locked on a carton labeled with her name.

  “What the heck is in this one?” She tugged the box halfway off the shelf and opened it. Inside was a bunch of odds and ends Casey had packed up for storage. Apparently, the box had mistakenly gotten into her sister’s load when Brianna moved out of their townhouse before her wedding.

  Casey closed the carton and returned it to its spot.

  “Here it is.” Judy eased a box off the lower shelves with Lovely Lady printed on it. “Your sister has no idea you’re in love with my son, does she?”

  Denying it was useless. Casey shook her head, swallowing hard. “I hope you didn’t feel the need to set her straight on that matter.”

  “No. I suspect she’ll figure it out soon enough after she sees you wearing David’s shirts.”

  “Mrs. Lambert, Brianna doesn’t—”

  “You’re the mother of my grandchild, Casey, you might as well drop the formality and call me Judy.”

  “Thank you.” Apparently David’s mother had finally realized she needed to be civil if she hoped to spend any significant time with her grandchild. Casey held the garage door open for Judy and followed her into the kitchen. “I was about to say Brianna doesn’t seem at all disturbed by the idea of me becoming involved with David. In fact, she’s encouraged me to be there for him. She feels terrible about hurting him.”

  Of course, it wasn’t likely her sister had meant for Casey to console David by sleeping with him.

  While she filled two glasses with iced tea, Judy set the box of beauty products on the floor next to the hallway and laid her purse on top.

  “I hope you don’t mind sitting in the kitchen.” Casey slid the cold glass across the island to Judy and gestured toward one of the stools. “I was about to start dinner when you came. Naturally, you’re welcome to stay.”

  Judy hesitated and glanced at her watch. “Actually, that would be nice. Gerald’s playing golf with some of his friends this afternoon, so he won’t be home until late.”

  Casey filled a large pot with water and placed it on the stove to boil. A hot flush of self-consciousness crept up her neck while Judy watched her peel a clove of garlic and puree it with a bunch of fresh basil, pine nuts, and olive oil in the mini food processor.

  “What’re you making?” Judy finally asked, no doubt feeling equally uncomfortable with the silence between them.

  Casey added a little black pepper and grated parmigiano reggiano. “Ravioli in pesto.”

  When she pulled the platter of cheese-filled pasta pillows from the refrigerator, Judy’s gaze narrowed. “You defrost your ravioli?”

  “I never froze these.”

  “You mean you made them from scratch?” Judy asked in an almost horrified tone that suggested she thought Casey had wasted her time.

  “Sort of. I buy sheets of fresh pasta from a little Italian grocery. It’s not that much work if you don’t have to make the dough and roll it yourself. The pasta is so much more delicate and homemade filling is ten times better than any I can buy.”

  Judy pursed her lips and nodded, wearing an odd expression that said she would reserve judgment until she tasted them.

  Casey recalled David’s comment about her sister and his mom hitting it off because Brianna had been no threat to Judy in the kitchen. A love of cooking was one thing Casey had in common with his mother and could base a peaceful relationship on. This was a perfect opportunity to start building a bridge between them.

  “David’s told me how much he loves your dressing. Would you mind making it for him tonight? The salad’s ready. All you have to do is toss it.”

  “All right. I’d be happy to.”

  While Judy found what
she needed in the pantry, Casey set the table for three in the kitchen’s dining area. When she finished, she excused herself for a few moments to change out of her bathing suit into a pair of white shorts and a pale blue maternity top trimmed in white eyelet.

  She dragged a comb through her damp hair, then hurried down the back staircase, hearing the garage door opener hum. She glanced across the empty kitchen and saw Judy seated in the family room, leafing through one of Casey’s gourmet cooking magazines.

  “Tinkerbelle?” David called, stepping through the laundry room doorway a split second later. Before Casey had a chance to say a word, he wrapped his arms around her and squeezed her into one of his long, toe-curling, hello kisses that routinely lasted a full fifteen seconds.

  Wonderful. This was just what his mother needed to see. Casey shoved him away.

  “What’s the matter?” His dejected gaze searched her face. “Are you mad at me for some reason?”

  Jerking her head, she rolled her eyes back toward the family room. He glanced over her head, and his face blanched.

  “Your mom popped in right after you called to say you were on your way home. She’s staying for dinner.” Casey forced a smile. “Isn’t that nice?”

  He closed his eyes and muttered a curse under his breath.

  “Hello, David.” Judy rose from the sofa and strolled through the dining area into the kitchen.

  “Hi, Mom.” He kept his gaze pointed at the floor and laid a peck on his mother’s cheek. “Where’s your car?”

  “I parked on the shoulder of the road. I didn’t know which garage you use, so I didn’t want to block you from pulling in.”

  “Thanks. How’ve you been?”

  “Lovely. I’d ask how you’ve been making out, but it’s obvious you’re doing just fine. Do you still want to stick with the we’re-just-good-friends story you’ve been feeding me since Father’s Day?”

  He slid his arm around Casey’s shoulders. “We may have become more than friends in the last two months, but we weren’t doing anything to be ashamed of back then—or now for that matter. At any rate, I don’t give a damn what you choose to believe. Our consciences are clear.”