Baby Blues and Wedding Bells

by Patricia McLinn

She started climbing the stairs, but obeying his gesture didn’t change the fact she was taking control of this conversation.

  “That’s good. You two need to talk. You can’t let this situation drive you apart for good. Have you ever thought about why it bothered you so much when Lana started pushing you as the great Corbett hope?”

  “Yeah, I didn’t want to be on the front lines taking all her firepower.”

  She turned at the top of the stairs. “That could be some of it.”

  He hit her with a blue laser glance that informed her he didn’t want to know what the rest of it was. She told him anyway.

  “You didn’t want to usurp Steve’s place. You couldn’t stand the idea of being the instrument for displacing or hurting your brother. Maybe that’s why you’ve been so angry at your mother—you felt she was pitting you against Steve.”

  She’d knocked him off balance. Good. Chewing that thought over might bring him a step closer to reconnecting with Steve. And as long as he was off balance, she might as well get in a few more points.

  “I’ve changed my mind, Zach.”

  “About?”

  “About you being here.”

  “You think I should leave.”

  “No. I think you should stay for a different reason.”

  His shoulders eased. “You’ll have to explain that one.”

  “Your staying can do more than prevent harm to Nell, and by extension Steve and Annette. Your staying can help.”

  “I have nothing to offer her.”

  “Yes, you do. First, you can offer her answers. And you can offer her more love. She has great parents in Steve and Annette, but who says a child should only get a certain amount of love? You can give her something no one else on earth can—your love.”

  “Ah, Fran.”

  She wasn’t at all sure what that meant. Then he slipped his hand under her hair and around the back of her neck, and she had a pretty good idea.

  She’d cupped her hands up in front of her, forming a barrier between their bodies. He stretched across the space and kissed her, light and undemanding.

  Then he backed away, his gaze traveling over her face before he bent to kiss her again. Uncertain, she leaned back.

  She should say things, explain…

  He pursued, taking her mouth.

  Her hands uncurled, brushed the open placket of his shirt, closed again. But they couldn’t stay still. Not with the way his lips pressed and slid against hers. He angled his head, she answered the movement. Her fingertips touched the underside of his jaw. Then he captured her top lip, sucking on it, and her arms slid around his neck.

  He tightened his hold around her, drawing her closer, pressing her breasts against him. He made a sound deep in his throat, a sound he’d made last night, between a growl and hum.

  But she forced herself to end the kiss, to break away.

  “You don’t have to do this, Zach.” She touched his cheek.

  “Have to?” He looked at her mouth. “Maybe, maybe not. Want to? Oh, yeah.”

  “But…”

  He lifted his head. “Don’t you know how beautiful you are? How absolutely amazing? If I’d had condoms with me and any say in the matter, we would have made love last night on the porch.”

  “Why?”

  He half laughed, half groaned. “Why? Because I’ve wanted you a long time, and last night I got the idea you want me, too.”

  “A long time? You can’t have.”

  “It’s seemed like a long time to me. Probably since you rose out of that lilac bush and gave me hell for not marching up to the front door of Corbett House.”

  He could have said he’d wanted her since they were kids. Right now she might have believed him. But he wasn’t offering the lies Tim had told. He wasn’t promising love or forever. He was simply offering this moment.

  And she wanted it. She wanted him. She wanted passion.

  Calm, reasonable Fran Dalton wanted passion.

  She’d tried that once before, but the mistake she’d made then was looking for more than passion. Looking for—and believing—all the promises Tim had made. But Zach made no promises.

  So she could accept his passion, couldn’t she?

  She released a breath she thought she might have been holding all her life. “Yes, I do. I want you.”

  Taking his hand, she led him into her bedroom. He released her to close the door, so she crossed the expanse of wood floor to the rug beside her bed alone, as she did every night. She stepped out of her shoes and dropped her cardigan on the nearby chair.

  But when she turned to see Zach standing by the door, she knew this was not like any other night.

  “Are you nervous?” His voice was low.

  “Yes.”

  “So am I.” He took a slow step toward her.

  “You?”

  “You don’t think I get nervous?” His next step shrank the space between them to an arm’s length.

  “No, I don’t. Not in situations like this.”

  One side of his mouth slanted up. He took her hand, kissed the palm, then slid it into the opening of his shirt, then down and to his left, holding it there, trapped between his chest and his hand.

  “I’ve never been in a situation like this before. Because we’ve never been together before.”

  His heart beat fast and hard under her hand. More than the rhythm, though, she absorbed the warmth surrounding her hand, surrounding her.

  She pushed at his shirt, wanting to see and feel everything. He shrugged out of his clothes with careless grace and impressive speed. Absorbed in exploring him, she barely noticed how he disposed of her clothing…except for the sensations his touch left in its wake. Her breasts felt full and tight, her belly quivering and pulsing.

  Lying down on the bed, they kissed. Again and again. She had never realized before that kisses had sounds. The actual sound of their mouths coming together, the inarticulate rumblings from his throat, the moans from hers, the ragged in-take of oxygen to fuel the next kiss. Each different.

  Face-to-face they kissed and touched and watched.

  She licked the hollow at the base of his neck, then lower, to his heart.

  He rumbled something and rolled to his back, taking her with him by holding her face between his hands, kissing her eyes, her forehead, her mouth. She backed away, just enough to stroke her hands across his shoulders, then down. He was more beautiful than anything she had ever seen. With her fingers, and then with kisses, she traced the bottom of his rib cage, etched by bone and muscles in perfect proportion, like the arch of a great cathedral.

  She kissed lower, and in a motion that sucked the breath from her, he reversed their positions, his weight pressing sensation into her all along her body.

  He reached over the edge of the bed and came back with a foil packet. He tore it apart, then adjusted his position to pull on the condom.

  Trying to give him more room, she shifted, accidentally scratching a fingernail across his tender skin. He jerked.

  She tried to scramble away, but it was impossible with his weight holding her down.

  “I’m sorry. I’m sorry. I’m not very good at this—”

  “Like hell.” He kissed her. Hard. “Any better and I’d need CPR. Besides, it’s not you, it’s not me. This is us. Together.”

  He stroked his hand down her thigh, then back up on the inside, the subtlest enticement to make her raise her leg, to open to him. She did, and was rewarded with the sensation of his hips fitting perfectly between her legs and his hard heat nudging against her.

  “Ah, Fran.”

  Slowly, slowly, he slid into her, filling her.

  Too slowly.

  She made a sound—need, impatience, wanting.

  He slid deeper. More. Deeper. There.

  “Ohh.”

  He rose up on his arms, looking into her eyes, a smile pulling his mouth wide. She smiled back, delighted and amazed at this reality, at this rightness.

  She flexed her hips, just a bi
t, just to see… Zach squeezed his eyes shut. She did it again.

  “Fran…”

  “Now, Zach. Now.”

  He kissed her as he pulled his hips back, then thrust slowly into her.

  She held onto him, felt the tightening and release of his muscles, the cycle coming faster and faster, each withdrawal only a prelude to a deeper thrust.

  “Fran…Franny…”

  He reached between them, his hand stroking across her, his body thrusting into her.

  She held back the sounds, the words welling up in her from somewhere so deep inside she’d never experienced it before. But she couldn’t hold back the tremor that came from the same spot. It rocked her, splintered her, left her no solidity or safety in the universe except with this man who shuddered into her, his head thrown back, his lips parted on her name.

  “Fran.”

  Fran looked back from the doorway at Zach sleeping in her bed.

  She was glad she hadn’t disturbed him; he needed the rest. She’d awakened to find him dreaming, muttering and grimacing, but his body still. Too still. She’d gently pressed her hand to his shoulder and gradually he’d quieted into a normal sleep. Heaven knew how long he’d struggled with the dream before it woke her.

  All in all he couldn’t have gotten more than a couple hours of real rest, because their sleep had also been disturbed twice in the most amazing ways.

  She’d steered away from bad boys all her life, and thought she was so safe with a supposed good guy like Tim. But she hadn’t been. So why not take a risk? Especially since there was definitely something to be said for bad boys. They got plenty of practice, so they knew what they were doing.

  At least this one did.

  Oh, she knew she shouldn’t jump to conclusions based on one night. On the other hand, it didn’t take more than one sip of champagne to know it wasn’t vinegar.

  Definitely not vinegar.

  Still, her good sense told her that any time she had with Zach was like champagne in another way. The bubbles would go flat in no time now that the bottle was opened. But damn it, she would not let herself regret opening that bottle. Having it sitting in the fridge forever would have made it go flat eventually, too. She would nave no regrets. None.

  Nor would she have any expectations.

  Zach had given her an experience unlike any she’d had before.

  It wasn’t the same for him. Oh, he’d had pleasure—she wasn’t that naive. But it was probably no different from what he was used to.

  She knew he felt gratitude toward her, and even fondness, and he would never treat her as a commodity the way Tim had.

  But she would not mistake integrity, an innate decency and bad-boy technique for anything else.

  Zach leaned against the entryway from the hall and surveyed the woman he’d spent the night making love with.

  Fran stood at the sink. She wore a cotton shirt under a long, loose sweater, and sweatpants—her anti-sex-appeal uniform.

  “Oh!” Turning, she caught sight of him and started, her hands going to her throat. She probably didn’t even know it was a self-protective move. “I didn’t see you there, Zach. Good morning. Would you like something for breakfast? Wh-what are you doing?”

  Stalking her.

  He could tell her that, but words weren’t going to cut it. He would just have to batter down those walls of hers again. The woman had crawled out of bed and right into this pretense that nothing had changed. Like what he wanted from her this morning were damned eggs.

  He kept closing in on her, walked right through her walls and stood close enough to feel her breath on the skin at the V of his shirt.

  With one hand spread wide, he stroked down from her waist and pressed her against him, trapping her between the pressure of his hand and the hardness of his groin.

  “Zach, we should talk…”

  She didn’t push at him or tell him to let her go, as he’d half expected. Instead, she did what the other half of him expected. She arched in an effort to offset the fact that he’d eliminated the space between their lower bodies. All of him welcomed that reaction. The tightness in him twisted harder, her heat compounding his. But he held back the urge to rock, to push against her. Not yet. Not nearly yet.

  One flick and the cardigan was open. And what do you know—there was one advantage to these oversize clothes she encased herself in. All it took was a flip on each side and the thing fell off her shoulders and trailed down her arms.

  Before she could react, he unbuttoned the flannel shirt one-handed, and with flawless precision, if he said so himself.

  “Oh!”

  He would have preferred more pleasure in her breathy exclamation, but he could make do with astonishment.

  “How did you—?”

  “Bad-boy training does come in handy sometimes.”

  “But…Zach, you shouldn’t—”

  He never had liked being told what he shouldn’t do.

  He drew his thumb across her nipple. The tip hardened with pleasure and desire—he knew just how it felt.

  “Zach, we can’t—”

  He didn’t like being told what he couldn’t do, either.

  With one motion, he slid his hand under the bra strap, scooped it over her shoulder and down her arm, then displaced the covering of her bra with his hand.

  “The hell we can’t,” he said into her mouth, just before he plunged his tongue inside in a thrust and retreat, thrust and retreat.

  When they were both oxygen-depleted, he trailed his mouth down her throat, over that dip in her collarbone—the same spot she’d licked on him last night, nearly short-circuiting his entire system—then to her breast. He skimmed his teeth gently over her nipple before he took it into his mouth and sucked.

  Gasping, she arched, but not to gain space. She rocked against him, panting.

  “Franny…?”

  It was a question he knew she understood. They wouldn’t have to go upstairs, not unless she insisted.

  If he could push her now…break through that last shred of her calm. She’d held on to it last night. Despite the surrender of her body to the sensations of lovemaking, he’d felt that ultimate reserve remain.

  Footsteps and voices sounded from outside, followed by a brisk knock on the porch door.

  Fran gasped. For a second he thought she’d fainted. Instead, she dropped down below the counter level and scooted across the floor toward the door to the formal dining room. From there she could get to the stairway without being seen from the porch.

  He was torn between laughing and…oh, hell, not laughing. Because he didn’t think he could move. He sure as hell couldn’t make the hurried exit she was making.

  “C’mon in,” he called from behind the protection of the counter.

  He heard two voices, an adult and child, on the porch, then the door into the house opened and Kay stuck her head around it. “Nell and I are here to visit Chester and the puppies.”

  “Fine. I’ll go tell Fran you’re here in a minute—I need coffee first. Can I bring you some?”

  “That would be great.”

  Upstairs, after taking the time he needed and giving Kay her coffee, Zach leaned against the wall opposite Fran’s closed bathroom door.

  Fran opened the door. Color surged into her cheeks, and the temptation to scuttle away flickered in her eyes. But she didn’t move. “Did I hear Kay and Nell?”

  He pushed off the wall, and closed the gap. “Yeah.”

  “Then we should—”

  “Not yet.” He slid his hands up under the reinstated cardigan and flannel shirt and rested them at her waist. The tension in her seemed to vibrate through him.

  “Zach. We have to go.”

  “I want you to remember, all day, while you’re wearing all these clothes, what it feels like to have my hands under them, touching your skin.”

  “Can I ask you somethin’?” Nell asked.

  “What?”

  Thank heavens Kay took the lead in responding. Fran wasn’t
sure she could get a word out. Her head and way too much of her body remained lost in moments from last night and this morning.

  I want you to remember…what it feels like to have my hands…touching your skin.

  Zach sat in seeming innocence across from the loveseat she shared with Kay. Damn the man. She could feel the heat and pressure of his touch on every inch of her skin.

  “What’s it like to have a brother or a sister?” Nell asked.

  “I’m no help,” Kay said, sounding relieved. “I don’t have any.”

  Nell turned to Fran, then Zach.

  Forcing herself to keep her mind off Zach, Fran said, “I’ve heard that the longest relationship anyone has is with a sibling, so you should take great care of it.”

  Nell didn’t seem impressed, but Fran thought her point had reached its intended target—Zach.

  “I think Daddy and Annette are worried I’ll feel left out if I had a new baby brother or sister.”

  Zach was watching a puppy try to clamber over Nell’s arm, but Fran thought he recognized the underpinning of her words—faith that Steve, Annette and she were a family, and that was her future.

  “Have they said that, Nell?” Kay asked.

  “Not exactly. But I know how to make them not worry about it.”

  “You do?”

  She nodded. “First, I’ll get one of Chester’s puppies and—”

  “Wait a minute,” Kay protested. “Your dad said you couldn’t have one of these puppies. You already have Pansy.”

  Nell nodded vehemently. “They don’t want me to get another puppy because they’re afraid Pansy will feel left out. Just like you said.” Her gaze pinned Kay.

  “I don’t remember saying that, and if I did that wasn’t what I meant!”

  Nell tipped her head to one side. “Well, then why can’t I have one of Chester’s puppies?”

  Kay wrestled with that one for a moment. Then she brightened. “You’ll have to ask your parents.”

  “I will!” Nell bounced up and started out.

  “But first you have to go to school,” Fran said.

  “Only for the morning,” Nell called over her shoulder. “Teachers have a planning afternoon.”

  Kay started dialing her cell phone.

  “What are you doing?”