A Loving Man

by Cait London

  Stefan returned and handed her the large glass of ice water—which Rose promptly threw at him. Water hissed and beaded on the large grill and Stefan shook the droplets from his face, then wiped his hand across it. “And what, may I ask, is the problem?”

  “Maggie. You’ve been seeing her.” She’d never been jealous and hated the fiery cords running through her now.

  Stefan frowned, then slowly took the mop and wiped up the floor. “And you don’t like it?” he asked thoughtfully.

  “You can’t just call me every night and say whatever you’re saying, and run with me every morning, and then—there was that time about two weeks ago—and then take up with Maggie.”

  “You want me? Alone? For yourself? Why?” Stefan asked very carefully, as he studied her. A drop of water fell from the shelf over the grill and sizzled on it, mimicking Rose’s temper. She did not have a nasty temper, and yet, here it was.

  Rose threw up her hands. “Hey, I don’t have a problem. No, I don’t want you. Not me, no way. Stop rapping questions at me.”

  Stefan began to smile slowly and then he wrapped his arms around her and walked back into the storeroom, closing them in the darkness with the canned goods. He pulled on a cord and the bald light trapped her. She wanted to shield her expression, to prevent Stefan from seeing how angry and hurt she was, but instead she glared at him, her emotions too stormy for her to speak.

  Stefan studied her closely, tugged the cord again and the room was dark and scented of him. He pulled her into his arms, not tenderly, but with just the edge of possession, and his mouth fused to hers. Not gently, or persuasively, but with the stamp of a man who desired her without caution. She heard a click and knew her control had snapped.

  The wild, sweet taste shot through her like a rocket and she locked her arms around him, meeting that desire with her own. His hands were on her breasts, shaping them, tormenting her gently, and then her bra came free and his mouth scorched her skin, his suckling tearing away all the frustration she’d had every night and day. She ran her hands under his shirt and he quickly stripped it away, pulling her tightly against him, his mouth hot and open on hers.

  “Stefan. Now,” she whispered raggedly as he unsnapped her shorts, they fell to her ankles, and his caresses began that fiery journey. Riveted there, held by her own desire for him, Rose cried out, holding him tightly. His voice rushed to curl around her, driving her pleasure higher as she dug her fingers into his hair, locking his lips to hers, taking and giving. Then the rush of pleasure shot over her and she sagged with the force, her knees unable to hold her. His kisses slowed and sweetened and soothed. “Chérie, for me, there is no other woman. I live for the taste of you, the feel of you.”

  “Mmm,” she managed to say when a “Likewise” was churning in her mind.

  Stefan rocked her gently against him until she managed to catch her breath. “Better now?” he asked gently as she felt his smile curling against her temple.

  She could only nod and meet the sweet, tender, searching, reassuring kiss he gave her. “I cannot leave now. There are the last-minute sauces…the eggplant meunière. Sit and talk with me,” he asked, his hands caressing. “It’s good to talk with you. It gives me ease. Your voice is like music, but your body—”

  Stefan’s telling muscles tightened and quivered around her and his hands swept downward to cup her bottom, drawing her tightly against him.

  That was all the reassurance she needed to know that Stefan had not adjourned with Maggie. Rose reached to smooth his hair; she stood on tiptoe and kissed him because he deserved kissing and tenderness. Their kisses were brief and meaningful, giving her a peace she hadn’t known.

  Because Danny’s “French Night” was crowded, Rose stayed to help Suzie serve the people. Danny and Stefan made an odd pair and everyone barely noticed the yelling in the kitchen. First Danny quit, surging his bulk out of the kitchen, and tearing off his apron and sitting to glower at the remaining contender. Then regrouping, he put on his apron again and pushed his bulk back into the kitchen. Stefan was next, stalking out of the kitchen, muttering darkly in French, and tearing off his apron. He stood, seemingly transfixed as Rose looked at him. Then he walked to her and asked her, “If I get through this night, I will be nothing but shreds of my former self. You know that, don’t you?”

  Rose may not have been experienced in lovemaking, or handling a too-interested male, but she did understand how to make peace. She wanted Stefan to fit into the difficult situation, while Danny wasn’t ready to admit the newcomer in the cooking ring. Timing was everything; if this conflict weren’t resolved now, Stefan would lose kitchen rights and possibly his temper, and Danny’s would be off limits. “I know. But you’re always so wonderful in difficult situations. You run Donatien’s Restaurants, an entire chain. I’ve seen you in action. You know exactly when to be firm and when to relent.”

  Stefan considered that thought. “Yes, I do, don’t I?”

  “Danny has always been a little touchy about his weight.” She wanted Stefan to avoid that pitfall.

  “It is difficult to fit into that small space with him,” Stefan muttered. “But I have not said anything.”

  “Of course you wouldn’t, because you’re considerate of other people. Think of how you’re helping him and think of how difficult it would be for you to give up the helm of Donatien’s. Give Danny time to think about all the wonderful things you’re doing for him. He just needs time to adjust. Just compliment him on his dishes and he’ll be more acceptable of yours. He loves to cook, so you share a common interest, if not the exact recipes. And he is very, very careful about food preparation. Every vegetable is washed thoroughly, and his kitchen has always been very clean. In that, he’s just like you, very neat and clean. You’re like generals in the same army, but with individual styles that work well together. You’ll see.”

  Stefan scowled at the kitchen, clearly considering Rose’s thoughts. “Yes, perhaps that is true. He is very good about washing vegetables and cleanliness. Not every chef—cook—is so cautious and I admire his slicing and dicing techniques…I merely added a little wine to his tasteless chicken and he exploded.”

  “Think of Danny’s dishes as ethnic food—Italian, French or soul. But instead it’s good old Missourian. It has a right to distinct flavor and presentation, too. The point is, people around here like it. You’re wonderful at give-and-take relationships. Look how you’re coping with your life here. Your family worked together to redo that old house. Danny really likes you, you know.” She patted his cheek with her free hand while balancing Mr. Peterson’s berry pie with the other.

  Leroy Evans popped in and asked if Stefan was cooking tonight. When Stefan frowned at him, Leroy quickly exited the café. Rose wondered about his boyish grin, because Leroy, a dairy farmer usually kept to himself. His wife had passed away years ago, and the usually solemn man quietly tended his land.

  In Stefan’s frustration, his hands running through his hair and that dark scowl on his face, he looked hot and sweet and delicious, just perfect for—but then she remembered that Stefan had pleasured her and asked nothing in return. She didn’t want to be the cause of him losing the kitchen battle. “You’re not going to give up, are you?” she asked sweetly. “Not when there are people to be fed?”

  “You think I would give up? Me, Stefan Donatien, master chef, give up?” With a grim expression, Stefan whipped on his apron and returned to the kitchen. After a few more moments of the two men arguing loudly, they settled into a low rumble. Later, after the crowd cleared, Danny and Stefan sat in a booth, discussing the fresh farm vegetables and “Italian Night.” Stefan reached to tug Rose down by his side, holding her hand. It all seemed very natural and good and safe, Rose thought, looking at Stefan’s big hand laced with hers. But summer was ending….

  Summer was ending too soon, Stefan thought as he sat in his home office, the second week of August. In another three weeks, Estelle would be away at school, and her giggling and racing through the house
to meet friends would stop. Stefan frowned slightly—he still hadn’t convinced Estelle to bring her friends home for dinner and a movie, which was a test he just couldn’t pass as a rural parent.

  At night, he’d finished studying the figures that his Donatien’s Restaurant account firm had given him. Business was good, but there was another problem, according to his manager—a known restaurant pest was circling each one of the restaurants. This woman and her husband were known for suing—falling on flooring that wasn’t slick, finding insects in food that they planted there, feigning sickness from food.

  Stefan tossed his pen to the table and listened to the window air conditioner hum. He knew that there would always be a business problem that would require his personal attention—grand openings, celebrity dinners, promotional events that marked Donatien’s presence in the Chicago restaurant scene. The expansion plan he’d put into effect the previous year was requiring decisions and meetings, and his top man was going through a divorce—his torn emotions were affecting his work. His errors would take time and patience to unravel and they were costly.

  Stefan’s father would have never allowed Tim Place to continue working after his first error, let alone his others. But Stefan thought the investment in Tim, letting him take time to resolve his life, was a good one. The Donatiens had always made the important decisions and Stefan would eventually have to go back to the city. He was determined to see the summer through, until Estelle returned to college. An absence from Rose would diminish any delicate relationship they had established. He would not push and she would not surrender—

  Rose still didn’t trust him. He could taste it in her goodnight kisses—the desire and the reluctance to fully trust him. He ran with her every morning, watched her determination to withhold herself from him, never giving over freely. They walked and talked and ate ice-cream cones, but Rose seemed to be drawing away from him. She was sealing herself from him, protecting herself against pain.

  While they ran, a greyhound named Walt sometimes joined them. They slowed their pace for the old dog, and Rose explained how Walt sometimes slept on her front porch when his master was in the hospital. In winter, she kept him in the warm back porch. But she couldn’t bear to take Walt, when his master passed away, and so he had become everyone’s pet, and loved by all. That example told Stefan how carefully she guarded her heart.

  She ran gently through the lives in Waterville, resolving differences just as she had with Stefan’s Danny incident. But Rose never came too close to love’s commitment.

  His fatigue was telling, and he thought it wisest not to bother Rose with his problems. She would only interpret that to mean he would be leaving her life and returning to business. Stefan ran his hand over his jaw, the sound of stubble there scraping in the quiet room. He was tired, and one glance in the mirror told him of the shadows his face wore, the lines more distinct. Balancing a large scale, fast-paced business from a distance wasn’t easy, and he’d been too abrupt with the office manager.

  He wasn’t pushing Rose, Stefan promised himself, though every instinct he possessed told him to claim her. More than once, after an evening walk, they had kissed and Rose had ignited, the sounds coming low and deep inside of her triggering his own desire. He would not push her to give him something so precious as her trust; yet it wounded him that her shadows were stronger than the love they could have. Rose needed to make her own decisions and the tension ran through them like the hot, muggy air after a summer rain.

  The humming tension in his body nudged Stefan. There was no escaping the fact that they should be making love each night and weren’t.

  Rose had protected herself all of her life and she wasn’t committing to a relationship she feared might hurt her. If he told her of his love, and the marriage he wanted, he could frighten her badly.

  Rose needed time to adjust to the change in her life. And time was running short for Stefan. He eventually would have to return to Chicago, and the gap between Rose and him might widen, because Rose had said many times that Waterville was her life. He couldn’t imagine plucking her from it. He couldn’t imagine her being happy anywhere else. What kind of a marriage could he offer her—flying back and forth on business, the late nights and the dilemmas? Rose deserved those children she had wanted, and they deserved a full-time father…if Estelle were right and Rose’s biological clock was ticking, Stefan preferred that he be the father of her children.

  He smiled at the thought of blue-eyed, freckle-faced girls in braids—long-legged, beguiling faerie imps, climbing up trees to rescue kittens and taking time to ease wounded hearts.

  Stefan listened to the creak of his mother’s bedroom, her footsteps down the hallway and onto the stairs. Soon the back door opened and closed and he knew she would not return until morning.

  A fax listing the new employee benefits package purred out of the machine. He firmed his lips, disliking the idea that his mother would meet a man in secret. And no righteous man would make her do so—Maury needed to have his daughter’s inner strength.

  Rose was very close to her father. If Stefan accused Maury of being less than honorable, he would have to deal with Rose. Stefan shook his head and then he called Larry and Henry. Much as he resented asking for Rose’s ex-fiancés’ help, he would need them in the next few days.

  Nine

  Rose listened carefully to Estelle’s hushed whisper over the telephone. “It’s Daddy. I told him that my friends were coming over for a little party. We’ve only got a week until September comes and everyone takes off to their different colleges. We were just going to watch movies and have some hot dogs and potato chips and sit around and talk. You’ve got to come. Daddy is all set to cook a full meal and he’ll be hurt if we don’t eat it. But the kids won’t like tournedos with cream, and crepes for dessert. Jason is a botany major. He’s bound to say that mushrooms are spores, and he won’t eat them. There isn’t anything else they’d like, and if we leave, he’ll really be hurt. You’ve got to come. You always know the right thing to say and do,” she repeated desperately.

  Rose frowned slightly as she replaced the telephone. Stefan had seemed distracted for the past week, and shadows brewed beneath his eyes. He seemed to be a man caught in a dilemma, and he wasn’t sharing it with her. People usually shared their problems with Rose, and she didn’t like being unable to help Stefan when he needed her. At times, while they were walking, she sensed he was about to say something serious, and then he shifted the conversation to the ordinary. Stefan was always a man in control—what could worry him so?

  The answer came back—business. Stefan was leaving and he was debating how to tell her. She had to make certain that he knew one night of loving was not a commitment for life, though she would hold it dear forever.

  He’d called at night, that deep, husky voice coursing over the lines in beautiful language she didn’t understand. But in the distance, another telephone rang and faxes whirred, and Stefan’s curse came short and dark. He’d apologized, but she sensed his great strain and impatience.

  She sniffed delicately, trying to minimize the slight bruise. She had handled her problems and most of the town’s for years and she was a known “soft heart.”

  At eight o’clock in the evening, Eb’s Grocery had closed for his birthday. Rose dialed Danny and a half hour later, she pulled into the Donatiens’ driveway. Estelle rushed out to meet her and Rose handed her boxes of buns and chips from the back of her pickup. When Rose turned to lift the box of hamburger patties and wieners, Stefan loomed over her. “Oh, hi, Stefan.”

  “I will cook these,” he said very formally. “This is why I trained in France,” he muttered darkly. “To be a fry cook in my own home. No, wait. I’ve graduated to the barbecue grill.”

  Estelle’s eyes widened at his sarcasm as Rose gave her the bucket container of potato salad. “Daddy—”

  Yvette took the sack of lettuce, tomatoes and pickles. “He is in a bad mood. At times he is like his father, too stiff to bend.”


  Stefan seemed to growl at her. “Was I wrong to want to know the name of the man you are seeing? Am I not your son? Do I not have that right?”

  The clash between son and mother was easy to see, and Rose ached for both of them as Yvette’s accent deepened. “I am tired of men’s rights. I have my own as a woman who has lived and loved, and wants to love even more.”

  In an uncustomary show of anger, Yvette glared at him. “You are up all night, calling and faxing and punching your money keys. You will work yourself into an early grave, just like him. Always the restaurant business when life waited. It was Guy’s dream and his fear of failure. His life. You should have your own dreams and your own life. When you return to Chicago, you will once again slide into that cold grave your father prepared you for. Oh, I fought, but I lost. Failure does not only apply to business, it applies to life. Take life, Stefan, embrace and enjoy it. Rose has been good for you, and we are all much better for her in our lives— Tend to your own romance, Stefan, and do not make the mistakes that your father did. If he had said, ‘I forbid’ one more time—”

  With that, she walked back into the house, and with a worried, helpless look, Estelle followed her.

  Clearly at odds with the women in his family, Stefan looked frustrated and nettled. “I have the grill ready,” he said, in a doomed tone. “For hamburgers and hot dogs.”

  Because he looked so disturbed, slapping the hamburger patties onto the grill and standing with his spatula like a spear at the ready, Rose wanted to ease him. She placed the flat of her hand on his back, felt that powerful ripple of tension. “I love tournedos with cream,” she said in her best I’m-really-starved voice.

  She wasn’t certain exactly what Stefan’s dish was, but she wanted to help as the hamburgers sizzled on the grill. Yvette set the picnic table, clearly ignoring Stefan, before returning to the house. “She has a lover,” Stefan brooded. “They are all growing up and leaving me. No one needs me.”