by Ann Evans
Just as the silence was becoming uncomfortable, Jenna stopped watching the traffic and turned her head toward him. “I want to thank you for helping Petey,” she said. “You can’t imagine what good that one hit did for him.”
“I think I can. He’s a good kid. So’s J.D.”
From the corner of his eye he saw her duck her head and knew that his words had pleased her. “How are you? No more problems with the baby, I hope.”
“The doctor says everything looks good. I’m on a new iron-rich diet and taking supplements, so I shouldn’t have any more episodes.”
“Glad to hear it.”
“How did it go with your embezzler?”
“Harv shocked us all and confessed.”
He gave her the details of the past few days. Chancing a glance from the road, he caught her nodding in interest, though he sensed something illusory about it.
More silence after that too-polite exchange. Mark wondered if he’d mistaken her welcoming smile at the ball park. What was wrong? She seemed tense and uncharacteristically reserved. He wanted to ask her if she’d begun to see marriage in the same way he had, but feared that one argument about that subject was quite enough to disrupt a peace as fragile as theirs.
To make matters worse, they encountered an accident that had traffic snarled for miles. It soon became apparent they couldn’t possibly make the real-estate agent’s office in time.
Mark pulled his cell phone out of its holder and extended it to Jenna. “Would you like to call and tell her we can’t make it? We can stop by her house if she really needs to have the key back.”
She nodded and took the phone. Instead of inconveniencing them, the agent was perfectly agreeable to letting Jenna drop off the key in the morning.
“The owners won’t mind that you have a key?” Mark asked.
“They live out of state. I think they’re going to accept the offer I made. They didn’t mind me going in to take a few measurements.”
“So you’re really going to do it.”
“It looks that way.” She turned her head toward him suddenly. “Would you like to see the place? I could give you a quick tour.”
“I’d like that.”
That odd tension seemed to lessen a little.
She gave him new directions, toward the outskirts of town. Eventually they reached a neighborhood of narrow, brick-lined streets, where ancient oaks shaped like candlelabras dripped moss and atmosphere to make shady canopies across the road. The houses here weren’t particularly fancy, but they looked inviting and well cared for.
They pulled up to a corner lot, where a decent-size Victorian house sat, decked out in peach and beige and lots of white gingerbread trim. As they got out of the car, he saw that it could stand a coat of paint.
Jenna glanced his way. “Now, remember,” she cautioned, sounding strangely defensive, “it needs a little work.”
A little work was an understatement. He wasn’t a professional, but as they approached the place, he could tell right away that the house had been neglected. Mother Nature had taken back the yard. As pretty as the oaks were, their roots, like elderly fingers, had turned the brick walkway into a danger zone. The railing on the front porch wobbled in his hand. The front door and side panels had beautiful beveled-glass inserts, but the door itself was warped.
He tried not to look skeptical as Jenna dragged him through the downstairs rooms, pointing out all the possibilities and little modifications she could make.
The living-room fireplace was deep and impressive, but when Mark ran his hand along the mantel, two bricks fell and almost whacked off one of his toes.
“A little mortar, and you’ll never know they were loose,” Jenna said quickly when he frowned at her.
There was a room up front that Jenna said would make a perfect office. A nice feature at the back of the house—a small solarium with multipaned windows—brought a wide smile to her face.
“All my plants could be here,” Jenna said, looking around the space wistfully. “There’s good light…”
“And water.” He pointed upward, where several of the glass panes were missing and had been boarded over.
“Cosmetic problems,” she said, scowling at him. “Replaceable.”
Before going upstairs, she pulled him back onto the wide front porch. She used her hands to block out space against one corner. “And a big wooden porch swing right here,” she said. Her eyes were shiny with enthusiasm. “I know it’s corny and overdone, but I like the idea of sitting out here on a nice evening, watching the stars come out.” She inhaled deeply. “Do you smell that? It’s so wonderful.”
The afternoon was tinged with the smoky scent that heralded autumn, but he barely noticed it. He couldn’t take his eyes off Jenna. She looked so pretty right now. He tried to ignore the tremor of pleasure that went through him, but nothing seemed to exist for him except the need to touch her. Just touch her.
Trying to overcome that urge, he glanced up at the wooden overhang, then cocked a dubious brow her way. “I see some rotted wood up there.”
“Don’t be a spoilsport,” she said with a dismissive wave of her hand. “The report is due back any day now, but the Realtor said nothing the inspector saw indicated that the structure wasn’t sound. Can’t you see its potential?”
“There’s a considerable amount of work to be done.”
“It’ll be worth it in the end.”
She started to move past him, but he caught her and pulled her close. To hell with trying to resist temptation. He wanted her in his arms.
“Jenna,” he said softly, “I don’t know where we stand right now, but I meant what I said a while back. If we got married, I’d buy you any place you want, anywhere you want. You could build this house brand-new, from the ground up, if it pleases you.”
He thought she looked a little disappointed, maybe even hurt. “You don’t get it, do you?”
“I’m just—”
“Being practical. Yes, I know. But what you don’t understand, Mark, is that, when I first saw this house, I had as many reservations as you do. But almost from the minute I walked in, I knew it could be a home for me and the boys. I felt it.”
“Jenna—”
She refused to hear what he had to say. Instead, she slipped out of his grasp. “Come on. Let me show you the upstairs.”
She led him up the staircase. He had to admit it was splendid, wide and solid rosewood, with a whimsical newel post shaped like a bird that almost defied description. Nearly every step creaked as they climbed, and when he hit a particularly noisy one, she looked back at him to gauge his reaction.
He smiled, but shook his head.
“Fixable,” was all she said.
He grinned back, deciding that, for her sake, he’d try to be enthusiastic about this monstrosity of a house that she seemed determined to make her own.
The funny thing was, he didn’t have to try very hard. Jenna’s excitement was infectious.
She’d done her homework. When she wasn’t giving him a running monologue about all the possible ways she could turn it into a real home, she filled him in on the history of the place—nothing notorious or noteworthy really, but interesting enough that he began to see a certain character in every nook and cranny. By the time they’d reached the last small bedroom at the back of the house, Mark found himself making suggestions, trying to visualize every change she had in mind and even coming up with solutions to problems she hadn’t solved yet.
The little bedroom had a bay window that boasted a view of a large backyard. The massive oaks that from the back porch had looked like roof killers to him suddenly seemed ideal for J.D.’s tire swing or Petey’s tree house.
“Guess what I envision for this room?” Jenna asked, and before he could answer, she said, “The nursery.”
He nodded thoughtfully. “I can see it.”
She pointed toward one of the corners. “I could put a rocking chair there.”
“No. Over by the window. So you can
watch the boys play while you feed the baby.”
“Yes, you’re right,” she replied after a thoughtful pause. “All the carpet upstairs is new, so I wouldn’t have to replace it. I can’t settle on a color for the walls, though.”
“What’s wrong with blue if it’s a boy, pink if it’s a girl?”
“Very logical,” she said with a teasing tone. “I’d expect that from you.”
He watched her survey the room with pursed lips and a brow crisscrossed with wrinkles. He’d never been more fascinated by the sight of her, standing in the fading light, making plans for the nursery, the place where their child would find love and tender care. When she envisioned herself here, was there hope at all that she saw him by her side?
She brought her hand to her chin. “I was thinking lavender might be nice.”
“Lavender!” he said with a laugh. “You mean like ‘old lady and doilies’ lavender?” He shook his head. “You wouldn’t do that to a boy, would you?”
“Maybe you’re right,” she said. “Once children get to the toddler stage, they usually like a stronger color. But I do hate to paint, so it would be nice to keep it the same color.”
“Painting is not that big a deal.”
“Fine. Then you can do it when the time comes.”
Their eyes met in a moment of curious intimacy. She looked a little startled. Vivid color stained her cheeks. She was fully aware, Mark realized, that she’d committed the hideous faux pas of assuming that he would be here in the future.
In an obvious effort to ease her embarrassment, she moved toward one side of the room. “I was thinking the crib should be here.”
Mark crossed the room slowly. He took her in his arms, and it pleased him enormously that she didn’t resist. “Jenna…”
She smiled weakly. “Well, that’s the grand tour. We can leave now. Everyone’s probably wondering where we are.”
His thumb smoothed the tiny laugh lines that bracketed her mouth as he gazed at her with frank sexual interest. “You’re an amazing woman, Jenna Rawlins. But you are absolutely no good at pretending, are you?”
“No,” she admitted, “I’m not.”
“So what do you want? Right this minute.”
“I want you—” her tongue came out to lick her lips “—to touch me.”
He pulled her closer, settling her against his chest. Bending his head, he brushed his lips against the side of her jaw and with one finger tucked wisps of fine hair behind her ear. “We don’t kiss enough,” he murmured. He pressed his mouth to the base of her throat, where the skin was like sweet, yielding velvet. “I’ve missed this. This little spot right here.”
He heard her draw a sketchy breath. “That feels nice.”
“Does it? How about this?”
“Lovely,” she said faintly as he planted a line of kisses along her throat.
“Do you want me to stop?”
“No.”
“I didn’t think so. Do you understand what I want to do with you right now?”
“We can’t,” she said on a soft note of alarm. “This isn’t officially my house yet. There’s no furniture.”
He flicked a glance down at the carpet, then gave her a slow smile. “We can improvise.”
“Mark!”
“Yes?”
“We mustn’t. It’s completely inappropriate.”
“Very.”
She appeared to think about it for a heartbeat. Then she grinned at him. “Should we lock the front door?”
Pointless to pretend any longer. They both wanted it. He kissed her.
A long kiss. A pressure that started lightly and experimentally as he traced the line of her mouth, then deepened into something more demanding and passionate, something that eventually brought a sigh of pleasure from Jenna.
Mark’s hands came up to grasp the lapels of her coat. “This,” he said as he nibbled gently at her lips. “Take this off.”
He pushed the coat from her shoulders and she let it slide down her arms to pool at her feet. Together they worked buttons loose—her blouse, his shirt—with languid care and smiles for each bit of skin revealed.
When at last they were naked, he laced his fingers with hers, feeling the warmth running from palm to palm as they sank and knelt face-to-face, only inches apart.
She was as beautiful as he remembered. He reached out to touch her nipples. He liked the way they looked, peeking out from between his fingers like a couple of tiny, perfect rosebuds. She closed her eyes and moaned as he stroked them, learning again the shape of her breasts, their unique contours. He watched a host of fascinating expressions flicker across her face, as though she’d fallen into some slow, secret dream.
His hand moved lower. She drew in her breath sharply, making her abdominal muscles taut and quivering. Her stomach was flat. He thought of how she would look in a few months, rounded with the weight of his child.
The thought of the baby made him glance at her in sudden concern. “Jenna,” he said softly, “can we do this?”
“If we don’t, I’ll go mad,” she said, and her voice held only tender amusement.
“I meant, what about the baby?”
He’d started to take his hand away, and she kept that from happening by laying his fingers back against her skin. “It’s fine. Really. Don’t stop. Please don’t stop.”
“You’re so beautiful.”
She laughed lightly and gave him a rueful smile. “Wait until the baby gets bigger. I assure you, you’ll find me quite unattractive.”
He shook his head. Threading his fingers through her hair, he tugged until she met his eyes. “Nothing about you will ever be unattractive to me. Not the body that carries my child.” He bent his head to touch his lips to her breasts. “Not the heart that already loves it.”
She wrapped her arms around him, held him close. Unexpectedly her hand closed around him. Her grip, gentle and electric, made him gasp with pleasure.
His pulse thrumming, he brought his hands around her slim back and lowered her to the carpet. He wanted to go slowly, make it special, make it different from the first time. He thought fleetingly of holding back and knew he couldn’t. He was fast losing his capacity for control, so great was the sweet, throbbing heat between his thighs.
He slid into her, gently, slowly, waiting, waiting—letting her adjust. The moments seemed to stretch into forever. Then he felt her tighten and squeeze on him, her legs drawing up, sliding against his. Soon he wasn’t sure which one of them was trembling.
They were knitted together now so tightly that when she arched upward, asking for more, he groaned as a feeling like an electrical current jolted him. Beneath him her flesh was slick with perspiration. He nuzzled the side of her face, saying things, foolishly loving things, into her ear he would not have thought could pass from his lips. She clutched him, breathing faster. And then she began to shudder.
“Mark,” she gasped, curling her fingers into his hair. She bit her lip, trying to stifle the sounds of pleasure that hung in her throat.
“Shh,” he whispered hoarsely. “It’s all right. I’m here. I’ve got you.”
And then he wasn’t sure he had her at all because something changed. The slow, rolling motion of her hips against his created a blunt pressure within him that built and built…till it was excruciating, overwhelming. His pulse surged. His breath came out in a harsh exhalation, and a moment later his body convulsed in orgasm.
They collapsed against each other and lay there quietly for long moments, neither speaking.
Mark pulled Jenna against his body, cradled her in his arms, and all he could do as he listened to his heart settle back into its normal rhythm was stare at the ceiling, as if the startling truth were written there.
He thought he could finally understand what his parents’ marriage must have been like in those very early days, before bitterness and resentment gnawed it to bloody pieces. That wild hunger between them had led to this—a desperate need to hold on and not let go, to feel your mi
nd lunging for something faraway. To the lovely discovery that another person could heal you and bring you a peace that curled through a thousand empty places in your spirit.
Making love to Jenna gave him all those feelings of belonging he’d craved his whole life, and for the first time ever, he could see a distinction between lovemaking and sex.
He wasn’t sure the knowledge pleased him. What was he to do with everything he’d believed in for so long? Before she’d robbed him of any satisfaction he’d had with his old life? He wanted to tell her how he felt. He wanted to know if it was the same for her. But how to shape the words?
I’m such a hypocrite. I can’t do without this in my life, Jenna. I want all the same things you want. All that crazy, uncontrollable passion. But it’s so frightening. Tell me how we can work this out.
That joyful, searing truth was on the tip of his tongue, but in the moment when he would have spoken, Jenna roused, rubbing her cheek against his jaw.
“Mark,” she said against his mouth, tickling the corner of it with her tongue. “Do you think we’ll ever have just normal sex?”
He laughed. “I thought we just did.”
“You know what I mean. In a bed. Without ripping each other’s clothes off.”
“Give me a few minutes,” he said, raising her fingers to his lips. “I’m willing to try again.”
She grinned and lowered her head to his bare chest, licking and kissing one of his nipples, teasing it to life, then moving on toward his shoulder. She had the softest mouth. He could feel her breath, warm on his flesh. He closed his eyes, letting the heat of her lips send his blood traveling to new routes.
And then she stopped.
He opened his eyes to find her looking up at him again, and this time a tiny frown marred her forehead.
“Where did you get this?” she asked, running a finger lightly down the length of a jagged scar that cut him from his shoulder to the underside of his ribs.
“Souvenir from a messy childhood,” he said, trying to keep his tone light as a cold sensation sharpened in his chest.
He could tell she wasn’t satisfied with that answer. The light in the room was poor, a sulky amber color that promised the last of the fading sunset. She twisted slightly in his arms, trying to see more of that old damage. He wondered what he could say to explain it away without ruining the mood.