“No.” Molly couldn’t help it. She couldn’t seem to locate her own sense of humor. Her eyes slid away from his.
“Too bad.” He was teasing.
“I’ll fix the couch.” Glad of something to do, Molly hurriedly left the kitchen. The spare bedding was kept in a cubbyhole of a closet under the stairs. When she returned with it in her arms, the kitchen light was off and he was sitting in the chair in the living room, thumbing through one of Mike’s car magazines.
He glanced up and saw her in the doorway.
“Just dump the stuff on the couch and I’ll spread it out when I’m ready,” he said.
Molly shook her head. “I’ll do it.”
She crossed the room, put the little pile of bedclothes on the table beside him, and started to shake out a sheet.
Will stood up without warning. The action so startled Molly that she whirled, dropping the sheet. He was close. Too close. She took a step backward instinctively.
“Go to bed, Molly,” he said. There was a wry expression on his face as he looked at her. He was handsome and sexy and strong, Molly thought, and exactly what she would ask for for her upcoming birthday if there was a God in heaven who saw to such things.
“I will when I’m done with the couch,” she said, retrieving the sheet. Falling for Will was the last thing she ought to do, she told herself. It was a mistake and she knew it. She could turn back from the edge, now, and at least try to save herself a bushelful of grief. Instead she took a deep breath, and stepped out into space. “By the way, thank you for—taking care of things earlier. For taking care of me.”
“You’re welcome.” He was still on his feet, watching her. Though she didn’t look at him, Molly could feel the weight of his gaze.
“Do you usually kiss your informants?” she asked, shaking out the sheet.
“What?”
“You heard me.”
“No, I don’t usually kiss my informants. But then, I’ve never had one who looked like you before—or one who wrapped her arms around my neck and cried her eyes out on my shoulder, either.”
“I see.” Molly smoothed the sheet over the cushions and tucked it in at the corners. Then she reached for the top sheet, still without looking directly at him.
“You kissed me back,” Will said.
“I know I did.” She unfolded the sheet.
“Care to tell me why?”
Molly shrugged, shaking the sheet out. “Hey, you said yourself you’re the boss. Maybe I thought kissing you was part of the deal.”
“Molly.” There was a note somewhere between amusement and irritation in his voice as he took the sheet out of her hands. “Forget the damned couch.”
Will turned her around to face him, his hands on her arms just above her elbows. Molly looked up at him to find that he was frowning as he studied her expression. His eyes were intent and very blue as they met her gaze.
“I want to make this clear: You don’t have to do this if you don’t want to,” he said. “It’s not part of the deal.”
“Do what?” He was making her nervous, wonderfully, deliciously nervous, in a way she couldn’t ever remember being made nervous by a man. Usually men were the supplicants, and she was the grantor, or not, of her favors as she chose. Always she had the upper hand. But with Will—Molly was very much afraid that in this case, he might have the upper hand. The scariest part of it all was, she kind of liked the idea.
“Sleep with me,” Will said.
To hear him put it so baldly made Molly’s senses reel.
Mere inches separated them now. Suddenly she savored the freedom from pretense his words offered, savored the freedom to touch him if she wished. Her hands found his chest, flattened against the hard muscles beneath the cotton T-shirt, taking pleasure in the feel of him. Molly discovered that, with him in his stocking feet and her barefoot, he was quite a bit taller than she was after all.
“Sleeping with you isn’t part of the deal?” she questioned carefully. Her hands moved up his chest. His eyes flared in response, and his grip on her elbows tightened. The solid warmth of him beneath her palms was intoxicating. His head, which had been dipping toward her, lifted at her question. His eyes narrowed and he shook his head.
“Too bad,” Molly said with regret and a Mona Lisa smile, her hands sliding up over his broad shoulders to link behind his neck. “And to think I had my sexual harassment suit all planned.”
Will laughed, and while he was laughing she rose up on tiptoe and kissed his mouth.
It was a practiced kiss, soft, provocative. She slanted her lips over his and slid her tongue inside his mouth and did her level best to knock his socks off. His body was hard as a board, Molly discovered as she plastered herself against it, and the arms that came around her were strong enough to break her in half with ease. She loved his hardness, and his strength.
For that first moment she was the aggressor. Then he was kissing her, short-circuiting her effort to assume control, his mouth experienced, sure. He shifted her so that her head was cushioned against his shoulder; one hand came up to mold her jaw, stroke her throat. Molly felt a spurt of surprise as the balance of power shifted, followed by an electric thrill. Her single conscious thought as his tongue explored her mouth was that the man certainly knew his way around women. She realized with a delightful little shiver that it was she who was in danger of getting her socks knocked off.
If she’d been wearing any socks, that is.
It was a while before Will lifted his head. Then he looked down at her, cupping her face in his hands.
“You’re beautiful,” he said, his voice husky.
“You’re not bad yourself,” she whispered, and reached up to press a string of kisses to the hard line of his jaw. Blond men did get five o’clock shadow, she discovered, and ran her tongue along the sandpapery ledge. Beneath her fingers she could feel his shoulders tighten. One hand slid down her back, smoothed the curve of her spine, and splayed over her bottom, pulling her tight against the hard bulge in his pants.
Then he kissed her again.
Molly wrapped her arms around his neck and pressed her body against his, reveling in the strength of his muscles, in his masculinity, in the evidence of his desire. He squeezed her bottom, kneaded it, caressed the soft curves through her nightshirt. Bunching the pink cotton in his hand, he pulled the garment inexorably upward. Molly tingled with anticipation, and caught fire waiting for the touch of his hand on her bare skin.
She wanted his hands on her flesh with an intensity that made her knees quiver.
His hand slid under her nightshirt at last, flattening over her bottom and lifting her upward so that her pelvis was crushed against him. His hand was hard, and warm, and masterful, and Molly’s bones felt as if they were melting in response. She was left in no doubt whatsoever about who was in charge of their lovemaking: Will.
His other palm covered her breast. His thumb found her nipple through her sleepshirt, teasing the nub that was already pebble-hard. Fireworks went off against the screen of her closed lids.
Molly fought against succumbing to a spiraling passion that was nearly overwhelming. He was on the verge of reducing her to a supplicant in his arms, and that she couldn’t stand. What she needed for her own self-respect was to turn the tables, to work her wiles on him.
Molly’s hands slid down, found the edge of his T-shirt and wormed inside, then moved up, over the smooth, warm skin of his back.
“Molly, I—oh.” Susan appeared in the doorway, blinking sleep from her eyes. Will and Molly jumped about a foot apart. Will yanked down his shirt. Molly’s nightshirt dropped into place on its own.
“Oh, hi, Will. Are you still here?” Susan asked, yawning.
“He’s spending the night—on the couch. To make sure we’re safe,” Molly said, flustered, and to her horror felt herself start to blush. Will, too, she saw, looked less than his usual cool, controlled self. A tinge of red stained his cheekbones. He ran a hand through his hair.
“Kind o
f like a bodyguard?” Susan asked, looking from one to the other of them.
“Like that,” Molly agreed, and Will nodded.
“Then I don’t have to be afraid anymore.” Susan sounded relieved. “That’s good, ’cause I’m really sleepy. Are you all right now, Molly?”
“I’m fine, Susie Q.”
“I knew Will would make you feel better,” Susan said with satisfaction, then turned and padded toward the bathroom. The kitchen light came on. After a moment during which Molly didn’t dare glance at Will, the kitchen light was switched off again and Susan was back.
“I’m going back to bed,” she announced in passing, heading for the stairs. “G’night.”
“ ’Night, Susie Q.”
“Good night, Susan.”
Molly listened to her footsteps ascending. Then she crossed her arms over her chest and glanced at Will. He stood about three feet away, his hair ruffled, his expression rueful.
“Sorry about that,” she said.
“Not your fault.” He reached out, hooked her elbow, pulled her close.
More footsteps on the stairs. By the time a quilt-wrapped Mike trekked past the doorway on his way to the bathroom, Will and Molly were no longer touching. Mike did his business and headed upstairs again, all with no more than a cursory glance at the pair in the living room.
Molly looked at Will.
“This isn’t the time or place, you know,” she said softly.
Will rubbed his hands over his face. “I’m beginning to realize that.”
“I don’t think it’s a good idea to—do anything—with the kids around.”
“I agree.”
“I think I really will go to bed now.”
“Good idea.”
“The couch …”
“Would you please quit worrying about the damned couch? I can make it up myself if I want to.”
“All right.” Molly started walking. Will stood between her and the door. He looked uncharacteristically grumpy, and that made Molly smile. She stopped in front of him, ran a hand up his muscled arm, tiptoed to plant a quick kiss on his lips.
“Good night,” she whispered against his mouth.
“Good night, hell.” He wrapped his arms around her. His kiss was hard and hot. Molly melted against him, her head tilted back by the pressure of his mouth, her arms sliding around his neck. His body was urgent against hers. She moved her hips in sinuous response.
“Kissing, yuck!” This disgusted comment sent them leaping apart. Molly, breathing hard, looked around to discover Sam in the aperture staring at them.
“What are you doing up?” she managed, not daring to look at Will.
“I need a drink of water.”
“The kitchen’s that way,” Molly said, pointing.
“I know.” Sam turned to head for the kitchen. “I just wanted to see if you were awake. I didn’t know Will was still here. I don’t know how he can do that kind of stuff.”
This last muttered comment was accompanied by a disgusted shake of Sam’s head.
Molly sent a sidelong glance toward Will. He looked so disgruntled she had to grin.
“Forget it,” he growled. “Go to bed.”
Molly couldn’t help it. She chuckled. “It’s called family life,” she said, semi-apologetically.
“Go to bed.” It was an order.
“I’m going.” Still chuckling, she headed for the door. Sam was in the kitchen. She could hear him running water in the sink.
“Molly?” Will’s voice was husky.
“Hmm?” She glanced back over her shoulder. Will stood by the half-made couch, holding in both hands the white-cased pillow she had brought him. He looked tired and cross, and so sexy it was all she could do not to retrace her steps.
“What are you doing for dinner tomorrow night?”
A slow smile lit her face. “Anything you want.”
“Is that a promise?”
Molly nodded, and his eyes darkened. Sam came out of the kitchen with a big glass of water and a speculative look on his face.
“Do you think I could watch TV for a while? I can’t sleep.”
“No!” said Molly and Will in unison. Sam glanced from one to the other.
“I was just asking! Sheesh!”
Sam headed for bed. Molly did likewise. She was just snuggling under the covers when she heard the sound of the refrigerator door opening.
Will, she assumed, getting himself another glass of milk. She fell asleep smiling over the most recent cause of his stress.
26
Morning came early, as morning always did. Groggy with sleep, Molly opened her eyes when a quick, hard kiss landed on her lips.
“See you tonight, beautiful,” Will said, straightening away from the bed. Then he was gone.
Blinking, Molly glanced at the bedside clock: 6:45 a.m. The rattle of dishes in the kitchen told her that the kids were up and getting ready for school. She groaned, then, resigned, rolled out of bed. She should have felt refreshed; this constituted sleeping late for her.
As she pulled on jeans and a sweat shirt and headed for the kitchen, the memory of what had happened to Sheila washed over her like a dark wave. Always, on the mornings when she didn’t have to work, she went up to the field to feed Sheila a couple of handfuls of dog chow. Not today; maybe not ever again.
But Molly had learned long ago not to think about painful things she could not cure. She banished the terrible images of Sheila, and replaced them instead with thoughts of Will. At least, this time, something magical had been born of tragedy. It was time to face the truth: Last night she had fallen head over heels for Will.
Molly was smiling when she walked into the kitchen. Her brothers and sisters immediately suspended all conversation. With guilty looks, they hung their heads and applied themselves to their cereal bowls. It didn’t take a genius to guess the topic of their conversation: it had been about her and Will.
They didn’t keep their mouths shut for long.
“Hey, Molly, aren’t you kind of old to be sitting around on Will’s lap like you did last night?” Sam asked critically after a few seconds.
“She was crying. You can sit on somebody’s lap if you’re crying even if you are grown up.” Susan came to Molly’s defense.
“A girl can sit on a guy’s lap anytime,” Mike said, dripping scorn. “Guys like it. Don’t you know that?”
“Are guys supposed to like kissing and stuff too?” Sam asked his big brother, sounding anxious.
“Molly and Will were kissing,” Susan put in. “Does that mean you’re going to marry Will, Molly?”
“Of course it doesn’t. People don’t have to get married just because they kiss,” Mike told her, then looked suspiciously at Molly. “If you are going to marry Will, I’m out of here. He’s too bossy.”
“I like him!” Susan said. “I think Molly should marry him!”
“Me too!” Sam seconded.
“Me too!” Ashley agreed.
“You guys are so dumb!” Mike gave his siblings a withering look.
“For everyone’s information, I am not going to marry Will,” Molly said, “and if you don’t hurry, you’re going to miss your bus. It’s almost seven-fifteen.”
There was the usual mad scramble for the bathroom and out the door. The twins’ bus came first; the one Mike and Ashley rode, fifteen minutes later. A white van with DTM Security Services emblazoned on its side pulled up just as Mike and Ashley were leaving the house.
“We’re getting a security system put in?” Ashley asked Molly in a disbelieving tone as Molly joined her, Mike, Pork Chop, and the van’s driver on the porch. The morning was crisp but cloudless, the night’s cold drizzle no more than a memory.
“Yes,” Molly said as she signed the purchase order, hoping to get by with no more explanation than that. She should have known better.
“You’ve got to be kidding.” Both Mike and Ashley stared at her as the driver went inside to, he said, check out the number of windows and doo
rs.
“Molly, did you see how much it cost?” Ashley whispered, not wanting the driver to hear. “It was on the bottom of the bill: fifteen hundred dollars!”
“Will’s paying for it,” Molly admitted, defeated, knowing there was no other way to explain away something that expensive.
“Will’s paying for it!” her siblings chorused in astonishment.
“Yes,” Molly said, then, looking down the road, spied deliverance. “Here comes the bus.”
“You aren’t going to marry him, are you?” Mike asked, his cool facade slipping enough to allow him to sound a little anxious.
“No, of course not,” Molly said. “He just is worried about us, is all.”
“You better not,” Mike said, heading for the bus.
“Don’t forget I’m picking you up after school. We have an appointment with the Sheriff’s Department at three-thirty,” Molly called after him.
“Yeah, yeah.” Mike didn’t sound nervous. If he truly wasn’t, Molly thought, he had to have rocks in his head. She certainly was.
“Molly, I just thought you’d like to know: Will was whistling when he left this morning,” Ashley confided in a conspiratorial tone.
“Would you get on the bus?” Molly almost yelled. Ashley grinned, waved, and sprinted down the driveway toward the bus. Frowning direly, Molly watched the slim, blue-jeaned figure retreat. Ashley bounded on board, the bus pulled off down the road—and Molly pictured Will whistling. The image was irresistible. Molly never even noticed when her frown changed to a smile.
The security system was not completely installed and functional until early afternoon. While the installer was working, Molly cleaned house, sorted clothes for a trip to the Laundromat, and, finally, with great reluctance, called Dr. Mott to inquire about Sheila. While waiting for the vet to get on the line she almost hung up, so certain was she that the news would be bad. But Sheila was holding her own, the vet said. She was badly injured and under heavy sedation, but she had a chance. Putting down the phone, Molly said a little prayer for Sheila: Please, God, don’t let her die.
A state police car pulled into the driveway just as the security system van was leaving. By the time Molly had answered the officers’ questions and they left, she was on the verge of tears. She drank two cups of coffee and took a long shower, and finally managed to push the whole nightmare out of her mind again.
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