All a Man Can Ask

by Virginia Kantra

  “Nope,” she said cheerfully. “How about you?”

  “I guess I can’t,” he said. “Not if you’re riding my ass all the time.”

  They grinned at each other.

  Faye took a deep breath. “Now, about next year—”

  “You’re going to set up the meeting, right? With the guidance counselor and everybody?”

  “Yes.”

  “Okay. So, I’ll do the senior year thing for now. And then it’s like you said. A bunch of colleges have fine arts programs. I’ll apply to some schools and see what happens. It’s not like I have to spend four years as a math major.”

  The hope in his voice moved her almost to tears. “You sound like you have this all figured out.”

  He shot her another smile. “Hey, I’m a genius. It’s amazing how my mind works when I’m not tripping.”

  She laughed. And after he had packed, because it was what he wanted, she drove him to the train station.

  “Take care of yourself,” she told him seriously as they stood below the platform. “Call me anytime.”

  “I will,” he promised. He hitched his book bag on his shoulder. “See you in September.”

  “In September,” she echoed, and hugged him, and watched him climb the wooden steps away.

  She went back to her empty cottage.

  Standing in the middle of her temporary studio, she turned slowly in a circle, studying the flat, serene landscapes pinned to the wall and the one startling sunset still spread out on her worktable.

  The bandage on her wrist was much less constrictive than her cast had been. Despite twinges when she flexed her arm, she could still paint.

  Faye bit her lip. That is, she could if she had anything to paint from. Her photos had been catalogued, confiscated or filed away. Her sketchbook, with its painting of the blown-up cabin cruiser, had been taken as evidence.

  With all her prompts and aids gone, what did she have to work with?

  She stared out the sliding glass doors at the lake. The remains of Richard Freer’s dock stood up like black and broken teeth from the far shore, but the sky curved high and blue, and the lake glittered with promise.

  Faye stood, irresolute, in her aunt Eileen’s living room. A freshening breeze slipped through the window to tease her hair and toy with the edges of the paper on the table.

  Suddenly, she moved. She collected her paints and her palette, her brushes and a mayonnaise jar filled with water, and carried them all outside. She lugged her easel outside, too, bumping it down the wooden steps, and set it up on the dry grass.

  The bright scene before her beckoned. Picking up her brush, Faye dipped it in the water and began to paint.

  From the heart.

  From life.

  That was how Aleksy found her an hour later, standing outside in her bare feet and long skirt, her hair golden in the sunlight. Paint tubes spotted the grass around her like flowers.

  The utter rightness of the scene soothed his restless spirit, so that for long moments he was content simply to watch her.

  But what he had come to say jumped and burned inside him like water drops on a hot griddle.

  His throat worked. “Faye.”

  Just her name, but it was enough to make her turn and look at him.

  And the welcome in her eyes nearly stopped his heart.

  “Aleksy! You’re home.”

  She dropped her brush and ran across the grass toward him. It was great. Beyond great. It was everything he’d ever wanted and hadn’t known he was searching for.

  He kissed her. Her lips warmed under his and clung. She was sweeter than summer wine, more addictive than any drug. Her body pressed, slim and firm, against his. Her bare toes climbed his shoes. For a minute, he forgot what he had to say.

  “Faye.” He broke the kiss. And then, because her mouth was so hot and so close, had to kiss her again. “Faye.”

  Those pink lips curved. “You said that already.”

  “Yeah.”

  God, he had to have her. Now would be best, but soon would have to do. They had to talk.

  “We have to talk,” he said.

  She stiffened a little in his arms. “Now?”

  He was pretty sure it had to be now. Otherwise, she’d have his tongue tangled and his mind completely blown, and it might be hours before he got back to the subject at hand, so to speak.

  “Yeah,” he said again.

  She didn’t look so thrilled about that. He understood. He was anxious to get on to the next part himself. But he thought—hoped—she’d be happier after she heard him out.

  “The thing is—” He lost himself a moment in her big chocolate brown eyes, in the feel of her, warm and sweetly curved against him. What was the thing again? “We can’t go on like this,” he said.

  Her arms slid from around his neck. “No?”

  “No.” He almost raked a hand through his hair; remembered the bullet graze and stuck both hands in his pockets instead. Jeez, he was nervous. Embarrassed, he tried to make a joke of it. “The thing is, now that they’ve met you, my parents practically expect us to get married. Allie wants to be a bridesmaid.”

  Faye’s face whitened. “I’m sorry if our—involvement—has created a problem with your family.”

  Where was her sense of humor? “Yes. No. The thing is—”

  She raised her hand. “Before you go any further, may I say something, please?”

  Frustrated, he glared at her. Maybe she should. He certainly wasn’t getting anywhere on his own.

  “Go ahead,” he invited.

  She took a deep breath. “I just want you to know that I don’t intend to make this difficult for you. You can leave at any time.”

  Aleksy felt like he’d taken another bullet. In the heart, this time.

  First the shock. Numbing, cold.

  And then the pain. Searing, hot.

  “You just can’t forgive me, can you?” he asked bitterly.

  “Forgive you for what?”

  But he’d heard the accusation too many times before to believe he wasn’t already charged, tried, and convicted.

  “For thinking like a cop. Reacting like a cop, instead of your lover.”

  Her brow pleated. “No, I just told you—”

  But he rolled over her, desperate to explain. Practically begging her to understand, for God’s sake. “I know I promised to take care of you. But if I’d given myself up the other night, the way Freer wanted, it wouldn’t have saved you.”

  “I know that.”

  “I had to wait for a clear shot.”

  “Aleksy, I know that.”

  “He would have killed us both otherwise.”

  Her eyes snapped. “I’m not stupid. You don’t have to explain to me that if you hadn’t responded to the situation according to your training, if you hadn’t—what did you say?—reacted like a cop, we’d both be dead right now.”

  “Then—then why do you want me to leave?”

  “I don’t.” Her face softened. Her voice gentled. “Aleksy, I don’t love you in spite of what you do. I love you because of who you are. And part of who you are is your job.”

  Despite the fact that she was talking to him as if he were one of her students, he was having trouble understanding her.

  Maybe it was the fracture in his skull.

  Or maybe it was the pounding of his heart.

  “You love me?” he repeated carefully.

  She frowned. “Of course I do.”

  He gave up. She loved him. “Then why are we arguing?”

  “I don’t know.” Her lips curved. “Because you haven’t tried anything else?”

  Right. He might have a bullet graze in his head, but he wasn’t too stupid to recognize an invitation when he heard one. He reached for her.

  Faye went into his arms with a shudder of relief. He was alive. He was here. And he was hers.

  For now.

  They kissed gently, a hello-how-are-you kind of kiss, exploring, tender. And his lips were so
soft and his mouth was so hot and he felt so good, warm and solid against her, that she forgot about his wound and kissed him again, harder this time.

  She felt his chest expand as he inhaled sharply and kissed her back, wrapping her tightly against him. His chest was hard. His arms were hard. His shoulders were rigid with control. Faye smiled against his mouth. He was hard all over.

  She ran her hands down his back while they kissed. She was drowning in his kisses, deeper now, devouring, while the sun poured over them like honey, warm, sticky, sweet. Her limbs were loosening, her insides softening, her mind melting under the force of the sun, under the heat of his kiss.

  His mouth was urgent on the point of her chin, the side of her neck, the hollow of her throat. His beard prickled her skin. The warm grass prickled her feet. She sucked in her breath. His hot hands covered her breasts. His thumbs rubbed her nipples. She moaned. She wanted more. More heat. More sensation. More Aleksy.

  She slid her hands under his shirt, greedy for the feel of his flesh, warm and smooth and muscled beneath her fingers.

  “Let’s move this inside,” he said, his voice rough.

  She opened her eyes. “No.”

  His thumbs stilled. “No?”

  “I want you now,” she said, hot and embarrassed. But it was true. “Outside. In the sun. No hiding.”

  “Here,” he said, looking as if he couldn’t believe her.

  “Yes.”

  “Outside.”

  She burned. “Yes.”

  “Kind of kinky for a schoolteacher,” he said, but he didn’t sound disapproving. He sounded amused. Excited.

  Willing.

  “Please,” she said.

  “I told you before, you could have anything if you begged,” he said hoarsely, and proceeded to give her…everything.

  He laid her on the bank and covered her, his body lean and hard against her front while the soft grass tickled her back and legs. He pulled her shirt up and over her head. His mouth was wet and seeking against her breasts. His hands tugged at her skirt and glided, warm and rough, against her sensitized flesh. He filled her with his fingers and she gasped, her bare feet planted against the earth, the sun burning her eyelids, his kiss burning her mouth, his touch searing between her legs.

  And then he stopped. A cool breeze ran over her thighs and stomach.

  “Aleksy!”

  “Shh,” he said, laughter shaking his voice. “You’re scaring the ducks.”

  “Screw the ducks,” she said.

  He laughed, and then his gaze, hot and intent, narrowed and focused on her face. “I can think of better things to do.”

  She shivered with love and lust and need. Yes.

  He reached for his pants and covered himself with a condom. She lifted her hips and then—oh, yes—he was thick and hot at her body’s entrance. He was there, inside her.

  She screamed and clawed at him. He bit her mouth, licked her lip, pushed his way inside her, over and over, again and again, coming into her, coming.

  She shattered around him and he thrust into her, tensed against her, his breath hot on her face. And then his hands tightened on her. He groaned into her hair and was still.

  Faye thought maybe he was dead.

  Maybe they both were and this was heaven.

  Paradise, she thought, drifting. Eden. She felt warm and relaxed. Mated. Created only for this one man for the rest of their lives together.

  “Like Adam and Eve,” she murmured.

  Aleksy stirred. “What?”

  He would run a million miles away if she told him what she was thinking.

  She smiled at him ruefully. “It’s not important.”

  He frowned. His body was damp and heavy against hers. “Faye—”

  Oh, dear. She could feel the tension returning to his muscles. She stroked the side of his face.

  “Don’t worry about it,” she said, soothing, tender. “I won’t ask for more than you’re prepared to give.”

  Like all your other women, she thought, but did not say. She had given him her heart. Let her keep her pride.

  He rolled off of her. “Well, that’s a crock.”

  She sat up. “Excuse me?”

  His jaw set. “I told you, you don’t expect enough of me.”

  “You told me a lot of things.” She reached for her shirt, covered her breasts, feeling suddenly exposed and vulnerable. “Including that there is no happily ever after.”

  He swore. “I knew we should talk first.” He glared at her. “But you distracted me.”

  Faye raised her chin. She was not going to run. She was not going to hide. She was not going to apologize for her feelings. “I told you I loved you.”

  He was digging in the pants pocket that had held the condom. “That’s what I meant. How am I supposed to think when you say stuff like that?”

  She couldn’t think, either. “I don’t expect—”

  “Got it.” He threw away the pants and rolled to his knees. He took her hand.

  And there, on the green and yellow grass, with dragonflies mating in spectacular flight and a family of mallards setting up house beside the water, Aleksy Denko got down on both knees before her.

  “Okay, listen up,” he said. “Because I’ve never done the asking before and I’ll probably botch it up, so you need to pay attention.”

  She started to tremble. “Pay attention to what?”

  He frowned. “I think you should be standing.”

  She was bewildered. Fascinated. “You want me to stand?”

  “I just said so, didn’t I?” he snapped, and then shook his head. “God. I’m botching this already. I’m no good at talking. I should have asked you straight out to begin with.”

  “Asked me what?”

  “To marry me.” He looked up, and the certainty in his eyes stilled her nerves and rattled her heart. A great, warm flood of joy rose from her toes and washed through her. “I know it’s a lot, asking you to take on the life of a cop’s wife, but—”

  He fumbled with the box in his hand—a dark blue velvet jeweler’s box. She stared, shaking, as he opened it, revealing a sparkling diamond solitaire set in a swoop of gold.

  More than he could afford, she was sure.

  And far, far more than she expected.

  His gaze was very steady. His hands were not. “I love you,” he said. “And I’m asking for all your love and the rest of our lives. Will you? Will you marry me, Faye?”

  Her breath caught. Her eyes filled. She held out her hand and watched as he slid the ring with its heart of fire onto her finger. Its colors flashed and glowed in the sunlight.

  Her future stretched before her—a perfect canvas she could fill with color and life and love.

  “With all my heart,” she said, and leaned forward, and kissed him.

  ISBN: 978-1-4268-8251-7

  ALL A MAN CAN ASK

  Copyright © 2003 by Virginia Kantra Ritchey

  All rights reserved. Except for use in any review, the reproduction or utilization of this work in whole or in part in any form by any electronic, mechanical or other means, now known or hereafter invented, including xerography, photocopying and recording, or in any information storage or retrieval system, is forbidden without the written permission of the editorial office, Silhouette Books, 300 East 42nd Street, New York, NY 10017 U.S.A.

  All characters in this book have no existence outside the imagination of the author and have no relation whatsoever to anyone bearing the same name or names. They are not even distantly inspired by any individual known or unknown to the author, and all incidents are pure invention.

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  *Trouble in Eden

 
 

  Virginia Kantra, All a Man Can Ask