Driven To Distraction

by Judith Duncan

  Releasing an uneven sigh, she met his gaze. “Ten years.”

  He continued to watch, his expression unsmiling. “Your ex-husband?”

  She shook her head and looked away. “No. An old boyfriend from high school.” Guessing that he wasn’t going to let it rest until she told him the whole story, she took a deep breath. “We’d gone together for about four months, then he moved away and we lost contact.” She gave a humorless smile. “I thought he was the love of my life.” Releasing a sigh, she continued, “Then I ran into him at a trade show. He was divorced and I was divorced. I thought for sure something fabulous was going to happen. But it didn’t. In fact, it was pretty abysmal.”

  The heel of his palm resting against the curve of her jaw, Tony lowered his head and kissed her with infinite care. Then he slid his hand under her hair and kissed her on the forehead. “Thank God for that,” he said, his tone blunt. Propping his head on his other hand, he caressed her throat with the back of his fingers, then tucked some hair behind her ear. “Ten years is a damned long time. That’s something you can’t just turn off.” Maggie tried to look away, but he didn’t let her. It wasn’t a question; it was a statement of fact, and Maggie felt her face go hot. He gave her head a reprimanding little shake, his expression softening. “Hey,” he whispered gruffly. “Don’t be embarrassed about it. It’s nothing to be ashamed of.” He leaned over and gave her a light, reassuring kiss. “I just wanted to know.”

  Abruptly aware of just how different her life had been from his, Maggie closed her eyes, unable to meet his gaze. As if sensing the sudden uncertainty in her, he moved so he was above her, taking her face between his hands, covering her mouth in a kiss that made her pulse race. He trailed kisses across her face—her eyes, her cheek, the unbearably sensitive hollow below her ear. “This time,” he whispered, moistening her bottom lip, “we’re going to go so slow it’ll seem like ten years.”

  Unable to hold on to a single coherent thought, Maggie clenched her jaw and arched her head back, the feel of his wet mouth moving down her body making her heart pound and her pulse stammer.

  She would never survive this onslaught. Never. Because this time, it was going to be twice as devastating.

  Chapter 8

  Maggie stared at the ceiling, trying to will away the threat of tears, feeling so much emotion in her chest she could barely hold it all in. Tony had made love to her for two solid hours, and he had brought her to so many climaxes that she had lost count. There wasn’t an inch of her body he hadn’t touched, and he had kissed her in the most intimate places, shredding whatever inhibitions she’d had. It had been an exercise in pure, raw sensation, and her body still throbbed from the earthshaking releases. And he had touched her so deeply, so profoundly that she knew she would never be the same again. She also knew this was a mistake she was going to pay for for a very long time.

  A muscle-car sped past, the howl of the engine shattering the silence, and Tony stirred, shifting the leg he had draped across hers. Tightening her arm in a protective gesture, she smoothed down his tousled hair, letting her hand rest over his ear. Her throat aching, she softly kissed his hair, holding him with heart-wrenching tenderness. He sighed and nuzzled his face deeper into the curve of her neck, then slid his arm around her midriff. Resting her cheek against the top of his head, she swallowed hard and began slowly running her fingers through the long hair at the nape of his neck, a wrenching sense of loss filling her chest.

  She should never have let this happen. But she had, and now hard, cold reality was staring her in the face. She was nine years older than him, and that bothered her. A lot. Maybe it wouldn’t be such a gap if she didn’t feel this way, but she did— she felt every single year. It made her feel almost guilty, but there was more to it than that. This was an illusion, and Tony Parnelli saw her as something she wasn’t. And maybe that’s what scared her more than anything.

  But if she had it to do all over again, would she change anything? Closing her eyes, she lightly tightened her hold on his head, hugging him to her. No. She wouldn’t. She wouldn’t give up this night with him for anything. It was something she would treasure for the rest of her life.

  Swallowing with great difficulty, she turned her head and looked at the clock radio on the table beside his bed. Four forty-seven. She should have left hours ago.

  Encircling his head with her arm, she pressed another kiss against it, holding on to him one moment longer. She wanted everything about this moment to be etched permanently in her mind, so she would never forget the feel of him asleep in her arms. One more minute. Then she would slip out of his bed and out the door. And if she was strong enough, she’d slip out of his life. There was just too much wrong to make it right. She had let herself be mesmerized by the feelings he aroused in her; now she would have to deal with the empty, hollow feeling eating a hole in her gut.

  The minute passed far too quickly. Struggling with the nearly suffocating sense of loss, she kissed him again, then gently—very gently—eased his head onto the pillow. Bracing herself for the final separation, she closed her eyes and clenched her jaw, then with careful deliberation tried to ease her arm out from under him.

  “No,” he mumbled, tightening his grasp around her middle. The ornery tone in his voice almost made her smile, and she caressed the back of his neck, pressing her mouth against his head.

  “Shh,” she whispered. Giving him a moment to settle, she continued to stroke his neck, a faint trace of humor surfacing. And she’d thought this part was going to be simple.

  After a few moments, his arm went slack. She gave him a couple of seconds longer, then very carefully tried to ease away again.

  He shifted his leg, effectively trapping her. “You aren’t going anywhere,” he mumbled, pulling her back.

  Maggie wasn’t sure if she wanted to laugh or cry. But she knew she was going to unravel if she didn’t get out of there soon. She gave his head a little shake. “Tony?”

  He didn’t move a muscle. Hoping that her explanation would register enough so he would let her go, she shifted his arm. “I have to go,” she said, her voice wavering a little. “Kelly will be getting up soon to go swimming.”

  He didn’t move for a minute; then he withdrew his arm from around her and released a long sigh. “What time is it?”

  Unable to stop herself, she ran her hand down his stubbled jaw. “It’s nearly five. And I don’t know when she swims today.”

  He rolled onto his back and dragged his hand down his face; then he turned his head and looked at her. And Maggie, who had struggled to a sitting position with the sheet clutched around her, made an unnerving discovery. If she thought Tony Parnelli was dangerous to her mental health when he was up and moving, he was twice as dangerous all sleepy-eyed and sexy after a night of heavy lovemaking.

  Rising up on one elbow, he caught her by the shoulder and pulled her down for a slow, sensual kiss that nearly destroyed her resolve. Sliding his hand down to her arm, he gave her a quick squeeze. “Just give me a minute,” he said, his voice still thick with sleep, “and I’ll walk you home.” He gave her arm one last caress, then rolled away, getting to his feet. Still shaken by the kiss, Maggie closed her eyes and rested her forehead against her upraised knees, a stark feeling washing through her. She wasn’t sure she could face him.

  She stayed like that until she heard the bathroom door close; then she slid off the bed and started collecting her scattered clothes. Somehow she had to get through this. Somehow.

  She was completely dressed except for her vest when Tony came back into the room, wearing a rumpled white T-shirt and a faded pair of jeans. Still looking half-asleep, he sat down on the edge of the bed with his back to her, fishing a pair of old leather dock shoes from the jumble of clothing on the floor. Dropping them in front of him, he scrubbed his face with one hand, as though trying to rid himself of leftover sleep.

  Maggie watched him, her heart feeling as if it was about to break into a thousand pieces. Realizing that she was stor
ing up one last image of him, she dragged her eyes away and slipped into her vest. “There’s no need for you to walk me home,” she said, struggling against the awful clogging in her chest.

  He jammed his foot into one shoe, then fumbled with the other one. “I’m going to walk you home,” he said, that same intractable tone in his voice.

  Maggie stared at him, dread making her lungs tight. She had wanted to sneak away in the night, to disappear out of his life just like that. Around three in the morning, she had made a decision that a letter would be the easiest way to explain why she had left and why she wouldn’t see him again. But she should have learned that nothing was ever simple with him. Feeling as if she didn’t have an ounce of color left in her face, she said quietly, “I don’t think that would be such a good idea.”

  He rose and turned to face her, the heavy stubble along his jaw giving him a hardened look. Shifting his weight onto one leg and resting his hands on his hips, he stared at her across the room. All traces of sleep gone, he continued to watch her, his gaze sharply alert. Then he narrowed his eyes and spoke, his tone soft and ominous. “Just what in hell does that mean?”

  Steeling herself to say to his face what she had intended to put in a letter, Maggie clenched her hands and eased in a tight, painful breath, meeting his gaze head-on. “This shouldn’t have happened, Tony,” she said, her voice not quite even.

  He glared at her, shifting his weight to the other leg. “Why the hell not?”

  She flattened her hands against the sides of her legs to still their trembling as she groped for the right words. “You’re young and attractive, and I was lonely—”

  He cut her off in midsentence, a dangerous glint in his eyes. “Are you insinuating that you were using me?”

  Grasping at an easy out, she abruptly shoved her hands in her pockets and lifted her chin. “Maybe I was.”

  He gave her a tight smile, shaking his head. “Nice try, Burrows. But it won’t fly.” He paused, his eyes drilling into her, the tightness in his face easing just a little. “So why don’t you spit out what’s really on your mind?”

  Determined to keep the sudden threat of tears at bay, she looked away, waiting for the nearly crippling contraction in her throat to ease. A charged silence stretched between them, and Maggie tried to assemble all the reasons in her mind. Finally she met his gaze, her expression controlled. “Do you have any idea how old I am?”

  He stared at her a moment, then made a derisive sound and looked away, shaking his head in disgust. Maggie’s insides felt like an overextended bow by the time he fixed his attention on her again. “Assuming you weren’t five years old when you had your son,” he said, his tone cutting, “I think I’ve pretty much figured that out.”

  Suddenly cold from the inside out, she wrapped her arms around herself, afraid that if she started to shiver she would never stop. Hating what she was doing to him, she tried to reason with him. “I’m forty-three years old, Tony—nine years older than you are.” She made a helpless gesture with her hand. “And that’s a big difference for you right now.”

  He tipped his head to one side, a hard glitter in his eyes. “You mean it would be fine if you were eighty-nine and I was eighty. But it’s not all right because you’re forty-three. Is that what you’re saying?”

  The look in his eyes made her falter, and she lifted her hands in another helpless gesture. “Yes.” She took a. deep breath. “No. That’s not the point.”

  “What is the point, Maggie?”

  She swallowed hard and folded her arms. “I feel as if I’m robbing you, Tony. And to be honest, I’d feel guilty every time we got a funny look. We’re at different phases in our lives. You’ll probably want kids someday.”

  With his gaze riveted on her, he came toward her in a loose-hipped saunter, an unnerving expression in his eyes. “I might. I might not.” He folded his arms and tipped his head to one side, narrowing his eyes in contemplation. “Although I must admit, this is a damned interesting topic, seeing as we’ve known each other less than a month and been out on one date.”

  Feeling outmaneuvered and trapped by his comment, as well as totally exposed, Maggie turned away and tried to reorganize her thoughts. Drawing up her shoulders, she turned to face him, not quite able to meet his gaze. “I’m sorry,” she said, her voice subdued. “That was pretty presumptuous of me. But I was trying to make a—”

  He cut her off. “I never said it was presumptuous, Maggie,” he corrected. “I said it was interesting.”

  Thrown off balance by the look in his eyes, she folded her arms and looked away. Finally she spoke. “What I’m trying to do,” she said, her tone even, “is to stop this before someone gets hurt.”

  “I see. And what does that mean, exactly?”

  She turned her head and looked at him. She hesitated for a moment, then answered, “Our life-styles are continents apart, Tony. Surely you can see that.”

  He braced his arm on the closet door and rested his hand on his hip, scrutinizing her with unnerving steadiness. “No,” he said flatly. “I can’t. Why don’t you draw me a picture?”

  A tight lump formed in her throat, and Maggie looked up at the ceiling, waiting for the burning sensation behind her eyes to pass. Exhaling unevenly, she rubbed the aching spot between her eyes. There was a long pause, then she lifted her head and looked at him. “Your life is exciting,” she said, her voice barely above a whisper. “You’re exciting. You take life by the throat and live it, Tony. I don’t. In fact, my life is pretty dull. I’m pretty dull.”

  Still standing with his arm braced against the closet door and his hand jammed on his hip, he studied her for a long while, as if contemplating her very existence. “So?”

  A funny flutter unfolded in Maggie’s midriff, and she turned and stared out the window, nervously rubbing the side of her finger with her thumb.

  “Come on, Maggie,” he said, his tone unrelenting. “Don’t leave me hanging. Let’s get right down to the bottom line. Why are you so ready to bail out before we’ve really got started?”

  Rubbing her palms together, she swallowed hard, the flutter in her middle moving up to her throat. Sensing his gaze on her hands, she shoved them into the pockets of her slacks.

  “I’m not letting you out of here until you level with me.”

  Withdrawing her hands from her pockets, she folded her arms, her heart suddenly pounding.

  “Maggie?” he prompted.

  Feeling as if the room was closing in around her, she stared out the window once more, unable to come up with a sound answer. She took a deep, uneven breath and finally replied, not sure if it was the truth or not, “I think I’m just a passing fancy.”

  There was a brief silence, then he asked, his voice oddly quiet, “So you think I’m using you?”

  Badly shaken by his question, she whirled and stared at him, every bit of warmth draining from her face. “God, no,” she whispered, horrified that he might think that. “No.”

  He straightened and rested his hands on his hips, watching her with a considering gaze. He studied her a moment, then spoke again, his unshaven face giving nothing away. “What do you think I see in you?”

  She made a helpless gesture with her hands. “I don’t know.”

  He continued to stare at her, his eyes unreadable in the soft light coming from the bedside lamp; then he shifted his weight and spoke again. “Okay. Then what do you want from me?”

  Feeling suddenly very close to tears, Maggie rubbed her upper arms. It took her a minute before she could get the words out. “I want us to be friends.”

  The muscles in his jaw twitched and a hard glitter appeared in his eyes. He came toward her, like a big cat stalking its prey. “I don’t want to be your friend,” he said, his voice dangerously soft. “And I’m sure as hell not looking for another mother or sister. So that doesn’t leave us much, does it?” He stopped a foot from her, his eyes glinting with anger. “But I gotta tell you, Burrows. You are, without a doubt, the most thickheaded wo
man I’ve had the misfortune to meet. And I’ve met a few.” He stared at her, his voice growing even softer. “Last night wasn’t about friendship, babe. Don’t think for a minute that it was.”

  Upset because she had angered him, and doubly upset because she was afraid she was going to cry, Maggie folded her hands into fists to keep from touching him. “This isn’t really about me, Tony,” she pleaded, trying to make him understand what she was trying to say. “It’s about you. Can’t you see this is all wrong?”

  “I’ll tell you what I think,” he said with ominous quiet. “I think you have a pretty damned shallow perception of me. I do not go to bed with every woman I meet, and I’m not some high-flying swinger.”

  Realizing she had made it worse instead of better, Maggie turned away. Without meaning to, she had somehow managed to destroy the very thing she had wanted to protect. Knowing she was on the verge of coming apart, she picked up her handbag from the footlocker at the end of the bed. “I have to go,” she whispered unevenly.

  “So you’re going to walk. Just like that.”

  Her back to him, she nodded once, her throat so tight she couldn’t even swallow.

  “Fine. If you think what happened between us is so damned insignificant that you can walk out of here without a second glance, then I’m sure as hell not wasting my breath.” He crossed to the bedroom door and rested his shoulder against the frame, partially blocking her escape route. Then he folded his arms, his face cold with anger. “Just remember, Mags. This decision is yours, not mine. I was willing to give this thing between us a shot, but you won’t even give it a chance. I thought you had more balls than that.” He paused, then spoke again, his tone cutting. “So go home, Maggie. And hide in your house. And watch life pass you by. Just remember that sometimes there aren’t any second chances.”

  Feeling as if he had just cut the ground out from under her, Maggie brushed passed him, her vision blurring and a cold, sick feeling radiating through her. There was nothing left for her to say. He had said it all.