Then, at Brick's insistence. they had to make two circuits of the City Hall parking lot, to be sure Gigi wasn't standing around waiting for a ride, but apparently one of her friends had driven her home. By the time they reached the Harris house, it was after five thirty. Dinner at six looked like the impossible dream.
Robin staggered toward the steps with an armload of wet bathing suits and towels. When the children ran ahead and found the door unlocked, she knew with a sinking feeling that Flint had arrived first.
She stepped inside and paused in surprise. At first whiff, it smelled like someone was cooking. At second whiff, she identified the tantalizing aroma as Chinese food—of the take-out persuasion.
Still not ready to face her employer, Robin lugged her load into the laundry room and dropped everything into the washer. Swimsuits had to be cleaned in cool water with little agitation. Towels needed hot water and lots of stirring. She settled on warm water and a medium spin.
Robin stood at the sink brushing her hair and listening to the children chatter to their father in the kitchen. They sounded happy together.
Back in the familiar surroundings, she decided her earlier conclusion that the children had become hers seemed self-indulgent and premature. Yes, Robin had grown to love them. It was hard to imagine not seeing them every day. But wasn't it pride that made her search for ways in which they resembled her? Wasn't it arrogance to think she could assume the same importance in their lives as the man who had loved them from birth?
Robin had never known her emotions to take such a roller-coaster ride. It must have something to do with her feelings about Flint.
What are you doing here? she asked her face in the mirror. You're a dancer and a teacher, not a nanny. This job is a stopgap, nothing more.
Fog crept across the mirror. Robin gripped the edge of the sink, reminded alarmingly of the incident at her mother’s apartment.
She was hungry. That might explain any visual disturbances. But it didn't explain the overwhelming sense of another presence in the room.
A warm, kind person—a woman. Robin felt bathed in encouragement and reassurance. She fought to sort out her confused impressions. Based on her previous experience, she expected to see a face, but the only eyes meeting hers in the mirror were her own. .
Robin realized the glass was spotted with water droplets. She'd left the washer lid open while it filled, and the air had become humid. That accounted for the fog.
At the machine, Robin saw that she had accidentally pressed the button for hot water instead of warm. Hence, the steam.
No one had entered the room. It must be her edgy emotions playing tricks.
Scoffing at her foolishness, Robin switched the water temperature and closed the lid, then went to the kitchen. White cartons perched on the table, which the children were busy setting. Flint was opening packets of soy sauce. "I hope you like Chinese food," he said.
"I love it." In the history of the planet, had there ever been such an unpredictable man?
"I gave your mother a ride home," Flint added.
"What?" She and the children stared at him.
"I got a call postponing my next appointment. When I went to the car, I saw her standing around looking lost." Flint shook his head ruefully. "She was holding a sign that said, Want a Quake Forecast? Ask a Fortune-Teller."
Robin laughed. "That's my mother."
"She even persuaded me to carry the sign into her shop." Flint filled glasses with ice water. "Who is that guy with the toga? He asked if I had any beer, as if I carried it around in my pocket. On the way home, I saw the Chinese place and thought you deserved a break."
"Wow! Kung pao shrimp!" Caitlin hopped into her chair.
"Egg rolls!" said Aaron.
"And those crunchy things." Brick grabbed the carton of fried won tons.
They devoured the meal in relative silence, given the children's usual tendency to chatter nonstop. Robin couldn't figure this man out. It had been kind of him to give Gigi a ride, and considerate to bring dinner. Was this his way of making up for the tongue lashing? The idea that Flint might feel contrite softened her anger.
She knew many men had trouble expressing their feelings. Flint seemed so articulate and self-possessed that it was hard to imagine he might speak gruffly to cover embarrassment. Perhaps that was why his apology had sounded so ungracious.
Flint told her to relax after dinner while the children cleared the table. He even went to move the laundry to the dryer.
Impressive, Robin thought, but kept up her guard.
After dinner, he played War with Brick and Caitlin. Brick won the first round and Caitlin the second. Then came Uno with Aaron, who trounced his father. Robin suspected Flint had purposely given his children the advantage.
Tonight he was showing a side of himself that she liked. And didn't trust as far as she could throw a seismograph.
Finally the children were tucked into bed, read to and kissed. Worn out from a busy afternoon, they quickly fell asleep.
Robin emerged from folding towels to find Flint fiddling with the CD player in the den. "I've been waiting for you," he said.
"Why?" She clutched the towels in front of her.
Flint lifted them away and set them on the couch. "I'm going to teach you a lesson."
"Oh?" Robin' lifted her chin.
"I'm going to teach you," he said, "that I can dance as well as that Tony person."
Chapter Eleven
Robin couldn't imagine that Flint meant to whirl her onto his shoulders. "Excuse me?"
"We're talking popular dance here," he amended with a sheepish grin. "Of course, with a little practice, I’m sure I could do what that fellow did today."
"Of course," Robin repeated. From most men, the claim would have been empty bragging, but she had a suspicion Flint could pull it off. What he might lack in grace, he would make up for in sheer power. "What did you have in mind?"
"I found a party CD from a few years back. When we used to give parties." Flint pushed a button on the player. A tantalizing beat filled the room with the mock-Fifties vigor of Elton John’s "Crocodile Rock."
Robin had almost forgotten how to rock and roll, but the steps came back to her as Flint caught her hand and twirled her around. She loved the bounciness of the music and the infectious youthfulness of the dance. For someone so tall, Flint moved with surprising speed, and she relaxed in the security of his partnership.
Dancing with Tony this afternoon, Robin had enjoyed detecting the subtle pressures that indicated which way he was going to move next. But her enjoyment had come from the experience itself, not from anything personal about Tony.
Dancing with Flint was another matter. Despite the energy of rock and rolling, which sent them flying around the family room to the imminent peril of the computer, Flint's concentration seemed to focus entirely on Robin. Where Tony had projected himself toward the watching students, Flint drew her into a private universe that shut out everything but the two of them.
When he spun her, Robin laughed with sheer exuberance. The air shimmered as Flint met her, released her, then caught her again.
After the song ended, he kept hold of her hands. "I'd almost forgotten," he murmured.
"How to dance?" she asked.
"How to have fun."
She feared for a moment that he would spot the photograph of Kathy and withdraw as he had before, but then a slow dance played and Flint drew her into his arms. This might not be such a good idea, Robin thought, but why shouldn't they enjoy a moment with their defenses down?
The room around them had fallen into near-darkness. A single lamp cast a glow, like the radiance of a private moon. The photographs lay in deep shadow.
Caught close against Flint, Robin inhaled his masculine fragrance. With restrained gentleness, he guided her along the star-lighted paths of a galaxy that belonged to them alone.
Closing her eyes, Robin rested her cheek against Flint's shoulder. She didn't have to think about her movements—s
he floated naturally as she instinctively followed the shifts of his muscles.
In three-quarter time, they moved into a more languorous world where the air seemed to thicken and support them. She no longer felt the floor beneath her feet, only the warmth of Flint's arms.
Robin's skin became acutely sensitive to the touch of his legs as they brushed hers, to the pressure of his hand on her waist, to the hardness of his shoulder beneath her cheek. Her mind tried to warn that this was dangerous, but the warning went hurtling off through space.
Flint stopped, his hands framing her face. With slow deliberation, his mouth closed over Robin's. For an instant, she couldn't react. Then her lips opened to his.
She couldn't miss the change in him as his tongue gained entry. His entire body was taut and supercharged. Where they touched along his powerful frame, she could feel his arousal. The man wanted her in an elemental way and Robin, lost among the stars, felt his desire reverberate through her bones.
Moving away, Flint switched off the music. Before Robin could regain her composure, he lifted her and carried her down the hall to her room. They swept through the house in a single, uninterrupted motion.
The bedroom door closed behind them. Flint must have turned on a lamp, because Robin could see him clearly in its gentle light as he lowered her to the bed.
From the far recesses of the universe, she heard a voice whisper that she ought to find her way back to earth. She couldn't remember why, though, and it didn't matter.
Flint leaned over the bed, and Robin's fingers reached to his shirt. She slipped the buttons free and arched up to explore his chest with her lips. Robin wanted to experience every part of him like an undiscovered planet filled with wonders.
She bared every inch of his naked male potency. Flint let her slide away his clothes and touch him all over. Even though she'd seen him jogging in the mornings and knew he worked out at the gym several times a week, Robin had rarely glimpsed Flint when he wasn't buttoned up and businesslike. Now, unclothed, he radiated raw virility, from his muscled arms to his taut hips.
Flint’s gaze locked with Robin's, transfixing her. Strong hands removed her jeans and pulled down her leotard. Before she knew it, her breasts lay bared to him. Flint's tongue covered the quivering tips, rousing them into hard peaks. He kissed her mouth, then claimed her breasts again, then traced a line down her flat stomach. A moment later, Robin realized he had removed every stitch of her clothing. She must have wriggled, must have helped, without being aware of it.
He paused to put on protection, and then launched himself into her. She felt the two of them explode off their launching pad in a burst of fire and velocity.
Robin gasped at the sensations careening through newly awakened nerve endings. Flint had become a driving force of nature, overwhelming, awe-inspiring. They merged and parted, then merged again. Robin had never dreamed she could be lifted out of herself this way, flung into a swirling array of stars.
She matched his fierce thrusts with an equal passion. How could she have lived in a house with this man, been angered and amused and annoyed and charmed by him, and never realized that he had been created to fill this void in her?
With a moan deep in his throat, Flint drew himself out of her. Then Robin reached for him, and he grasped her buttocks and united them again with a flash of pleasure so overwhelming that she cried out. In the fire of an expanding sun, she welcomed Flint's explosion within her and then the long, quiet drift that followed.
They lay together in a silence that stretched into eons. Robin knew they should speak. Tonight they had left their old world and entered a new one. Neither of them had given any thought to the aftermath.
She wished she didn't have to face the complications.
She knew now that she'd been denying the attraction between them from the beginning. But it had persisted and tonight had taken on a life of its own. Still, she and Flint existed as separate and very different people.
*
How beautiful she was, Flint reflected as he stroked Robin’s hair. And how wrong for him to take advantage of her natural sensuality.
He’d always seen himself as a trustworthy man. Loyal. Committed. Someone the people he loved could rely on. How could he have betrayed all those ideals?
He was older than Robin by half a dozen years, a widower, a father and, despite his burst of passion, normally a very self-controlled person. She was fresh, spontaneous and stunning, a woman that any man would love to be with. If they tried to make this work, where could it lead?
He would disappoint her, and, in all honesty, she’d probably drive him a little crazy, too. They were complete opposites, and it wouldn’t be long before their relationship frayed and fell apart.
The children’s hopes would rise, and then crash, just when they’d begun to stabilize. Robin would be hurt and embittered.
Take what you can get. Throw caution to the winds.
Well, Flint had done that. Now he was suffused with guilt. Not regret, but disappointment in himself.
When he hired her, she’d mentioned respecting boundaries. He should have paid closer attention. Yet surely they could retreat safely from this precipice.
*
Before Robin could figure out how to begin, Flint sat up, his back rigid against the headboard. "I take responsibility for this. I knew you were vulnerable. What I didn't realize was how vulnerable I was."
Why couldn't he say tender, loving things? Why couldn't he admit how much he needed her? Robin sat up, also. "Flint, it isn't just a matter of you being lonely and me being naïve. I'm not naïve and I don't believe you're all that lonely. This was meant to happen."
"I don't buy that," he said. "We make our own decisions."
Anger bubbled up at his stubbornness. "I don't know what kind of relationship we can have, but we ought to give it a chance."
His expression softened, and moisture glittered in his eyes. For a moment, she thought he was about to hold her, press his forehead to hers, and whisper….
"Robin, you deserve better.”
“Oh, please!”
“We’re always quarreling.”
“Mostly because you’re so stubborn,” she flared.
He seemed to draw even deeper into himself. “If we keep matters platonic from now on, we can go on living together, for our sakes and the children's. But if we give in to this—this passion—how long can it last? I don’t want to lose you completely.”
"Do you have to be so damn logical?" she returned. "Was what happened tonight logical? Do you honestly believe logic can keep it from happening again?"
"I don't want you to leave." His mouth tightened. "Let's just be friends. We’re both adults. We can make it work."
The idea was outrageous. Only Flint, deluded into the conviction that his rational mind could rule his emotions, would propose such a thing. But Robin could already see him opening a gap between them. She had to break it down quickly, before the division widened.
"It isn't that simple." She plunged ahead. "There's something I haven't told you."
He tipped his head and watched her, saying nothing.
"This is going to sound—kind of strange," Robin admitted.
With half her mind, she wanted to backpedal. Originally, she'd thought it didn't matter whether she was the triplets' mother. After all, she'd planned to work here for a few months and then vanish from their lives.
But now she could see that everything fit a pattern. She hated to admit her mother might be right. Not that Robin believed spirits had guided her, but she'd been drawn here for a reason and she was going to stay.
Haltingly, she told Flint how she'd donated her eggs when she was in college. As she talked, expressions registered on his face—doubt, skepticism, disbelief and then, slowly, anger. "You should have told me at once. You should never have taken the job," he said tightly.
"I'd already signed the contract before I found out." Robin knew her argument sounded weak. "I was worried about who would look after the
triplets. I told myself it didn't matter, that I’d only be here on a temporary basis. Flint, I never expected us to get involved."
"You should have informed me," he growled. "You had an obligation to be honest. Now the children…how on earth do you expect them to react if they find out?" He stopped, his face set along hard lines.
Dismay dimmed Robin's confidence. In her world, wrongs could be righted and errors forgiven. But Flint separated deeds into dark and light, with no gray area in between.
"I'm sorry," she said. "Flint, I didn't have to tell you now, but I wanted to show you why it's important that you give our relationship a chance. It really is for the children's sakes."
He rolled away from her and lay staring into space. Despite an urge to clear the air, Robin knew that she could never justify herself to Flint. Still, she hoped that, after thinking the matter through, he would find it in his heart to forgive her.
If only she was sure he had a heart.
*
Flint awoke in the early morning hours. At first, he thought it was just one of those momentary drifts into consciousness that occurred most nights, but then he heard a soft cry from upstairs.
Aaron must be having one of his bad dreams.
Slipping out of bed, Flint paused to gaze at Robin, hair tangling across her face, expression peaceful as a child's. He'd never expected a bombshell like this. How could it have happened?
Dressing quickly, he hurried upstairs. In Aaron's room, he found the boy already slipping into a deeper sleep. In the past week, Flint had to admit, the boy's nightmares had become fewer and further apart. They'd been intense after Kathy's death. All three of the children had suffered sleep disturbances.
Although the dreams had faded within months, Aaron's had returned not long ago. Their doctor explained that children go through physical and emotional stages. Apparently these changes had triggered the nightmares of loss and abandonment in Aaron, but not in his sturdier siblings.
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