More to Love

by Dixie Browning

  “Oh. Pie.” She shook her head. “I don’t know why I feel like crying.”

  Gut punch. “You feel like what?”

  “Don’t mind me, you go ahead and have your dessert. Mine’s around here somewhere. Would you put it in the refrigerator for me? I’m not hungry after all. I should be—I hardly touched my chicken, but… It must be the weather. That and Kenny and—and everything.” Her voice spiked dangerously. She was babbling again.

  Rafe recognized the signs by now. She was embarrassed. Her voice was too cheerful, her eyes were too bright—her lips were still swollen from his kiss. He didn’t know whether to eat pie or make love. He knew which he’d rather do, and it didn’t necessarily include meringue. He stood there, watching her as if he were a member of a bomb squad faced with some strange new explosive device.

  “Molly?” She waved him away, but it was too late. One fat tear broke the barrier of her thick lashes and slipped down her cheek. “Ah, honey—don’t do that,” he growled.

  It was all she needed. For all of ten seconds she stood there, arms at her sides, sniffling and gasping convulsively. Then Rafe opened his arms and she turned blindly into his embrace.

  Molly was beyond embarrassment, but there was no way she could hold back. What she needed more than anything else in the world at this moment was comfort. Pure, physical, nonjudgmental comfort. She had long since outgrown the kiss-it-and-make-it-well stage, but some needs were elemental.

  She didn’t even want to think about why she so desperately needed comforting. Kenny was only the smallest part of it. It had far more to do with a basic need that had been growing inside her for too long. “Do you mind—would you mind just holding me?” she asked, struggling for some vestige of dignity. There was nothing at all sexual about the request. That had been only a momentary…aberration.

  Still holding her, he shooed the cat away again and settled down on the sofa. Still cradled in his arms, she turned so that she was resting against his chest, her arms draped around his shoulders. That way she could hide her ruined face in his throat until she managed to regain control of her emotions.

  “I’m so embarrassed,” she mumbled into his collar. She was ruining his shirt, getting it all damp.

  Something rumbled in his throat. No words, just a comforting sound. She shoved her fists up under his arms, where it was warm and safe and cozy. Then just as she was beginning to get herself in hand again, the dam burst, releasing the flood that had been building for too many years since her parents had been killed driving in a blinding rain on a mountain road.

  There’d been no time to grieve then. She’d had to be strong for her sisters, to deal with the funeral home, the lawyer, the preacher and all the people who had tried to smother them with kindness. Then there’d been the woman from social services, and the insurance people. Her father’s policy had lapsed when payments had fallen behind. A wonderful man, kind and funny and loving, he had never been good with details. An avalanche of details. She remembered crying, but grieving was far more than crying, and there’d been no time for anything more than tears shed in the middle of the night, wrenching sobs stifled in her pillow so her sisters wouldn’t hear.

  She’d had to find a second job, which meant working seven days a week to pay off the lawyer and her father’s debts. And then there were braces and tuition and all the extras that kept piling up faster than her meager earnings could cover.

  Finally, just as her responsibilities had begun to ease, Kenny had come along, and in a moment of inexcusable weakness she had married him.

  It hadn’t taken long before she’d realized that her charming prince was largely a figment of her imagination, but the deed was done. For better or worse, she’d been determined to stick by her vows. In Grover’s Hollow, things like marriage vows were taken seriously. Things might have been different if she hadn’t gotten pregnant. They hadn’t planned it. Kenny didn’t particularly like children. Probably because, as she realized later, he was still too much of a child himself and didn’t want competition.

  He’d been having trouble holding a job because, as he put it, either he was overqualified, or the boss was unreasonable or there was no room for advancement. Whatever the excuse, none of his jobs lasted more than a few weeks. The more Molly came to know the man she had married, the more she’d worried. Morning sickness struck hard and early, and that hadn’t helped. Then in the space of three weeks her employer had gone bankrupt and Kenny had quit his job driving for a vending machine company because it was beneath his dignity. A week later she lost her baby. Riddled with guilt, she’d been unable to cry, afraid that once she started she might never be able to stop.

  And now, of all times, she’d had to start. “I’m so sorry,” she blubbered.

  “It’s all right. Just go on and get him out of your system.”

  He thought she was crying over Kenny. “I wish he’d drive off the end of the ferry and drown,” she muttered against his soggy collar.

  “I’m not sure you could handle the guilt if it happened,” he said, sounding almost amused.

  “Have you evermore got me pegged?” She even managed a wet chuckle. “Knowing Kenny, he’d land on a shoal and have to be rescued, and then sue the rescuers and the ferry company for mental anguish and ruining his new coat.”

  “Sounds like a real prince.”

  “Don’t laugh. If he thought we were really married, he’d probably sue you for stealing his meal ticket.”

  “I can see it now, The Molly Stakes. Cross lawyers and come out fighting?”

  She snickered. And then she burst out laughing. It felt incredibly good, even though her eyes were burning and her nose was stopped up, and nothing had really changed. “It’s not funny, you know. Now that he knows where I work, he’s probably going to hang around Holly Hills and make a nuisance of himself, and first thing you know, I’ll be more trouble than I’m worth and they’ll find some reason to let me go. It’s happened too many times in the past.”

  “He’d do that even thinking you’ve remarried?”

  She uttered a ladylike snort. “He’d never in a million years believe someone like you would marry someone like me, even though I’ve been gainfully employed for nearly twenty years and once won a prize for my practically fat-free chicken pot pie.”

  Rafe’s arms tightened around her. An intoxicating blend of his cedarwood shaving soap and her baby powder, enhanced by the heat generated by two adult bodies, eddied around them. Somewhat to his amazement, Rafe realized that he could easily see himself married to Molly. She was…comfortable. Surprisingly good company. Sexy in a way that was both earthy and innocent.

  Get a grip, man. This is your half brother’s sister-in-law!

  He tried. He thought about Stu, who might be neck-deep in trouble again, depending on what kind of woman this Annamarie turned out to be. That could turn out to be a messy situation if Rafe allowed himself to get involved with Molly.

  He thought about certain personnel problems waiting for him back at the Coral Tree Inn. He thought about Belle, his ex-mistress, who was probably busy making babies at this very moment. Which brought him full circle to the problem in his arms.

  The way Rafe saw it, Molly’s biggest problem, aside from that jerk she’d been married to, was a badly bruised self-esteem. For which the jerk could probably take full credit. And while Rafe was in a position to do something about it, there were certain hazards involved, one of which was the fact that he might not be able to maintain his objectivity.

  Her fingers uncurled and slipped around to his back. Couldn’t she tell what was happening to him? His heart was thundering like a cattle stampede, he was breathing like a locomotive headed up a steep grade. Not to mention certain other obvious clues.

  He really should pull back before things got too far out of control. “Molly?”

  “This feels so good. Isn’t it the most wonderful feeling in the world, being held by someone bigger and stronger than you are?”

  “I wouldn’t know,” h
e said with a wry grin.

  She laughed, a husky, whispery sound that registered in the pit of his belly. Patience, man. You’re in control here. See that you keep it that way.

  Her knees were drawn up beside her. Beside him. Rafe had a feeling that somewhere a fuse was burning dangerously short. “For just this little bit of time,” she whispered, “I don’t have to think about tomorrow. I don’t have to worry about whether or not Kenny’s going to be waiting for me once I go back to Holly Hills. For now, I can just stay right here and…glow.”

  “Glow?”

  “Mmm. That nice, drifty feeling you get just before you fall asleep. Sometimes when I have a big problem, I put it under my pillow just before I fall asleep and when I wake up in the morning, the answer is there waiting for me. It’s like leaving a door open in your mind.”

  “Uh-huh. Yes, well—I’ve got a little problem, but I don’t think I’ll find an answer under my pillow.”

  “Sex, you mean.”

  Mentally he slammed on the antilock brakes. “I do? I mean, it’s no big problem…honestly. Nothing I can’t handle.” A long, cold shower and a fast flight out at daybreak should just about do it. The honeymooners could wait.

  “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to embarrass you, but—well, I couldn’t help notice, and if there’s anything I can do—”

  He swore. Broke it off quickly, not wanting the birds to get any ideas, but— “Dammit, Molly, do you always blurt out the first thing that pops into your mind?”

  “Not always—actually, almost never, but it’s a good policy. Feet on the floor, cards on the table. It saves misunderstandings.”

  “Yeah, well, I have to tell you, it just might land you in trouble one of these days. Another man might take you up on your offer.”

  “I didn’t offer—well, I guess I did, didn’t I? But you know what I mean.”

  “No, I don’t. Suppose you tell me.”

  “Well, I meant…that is, I might be partly to blame—I mean, I know how men are about these—um, physiological things?” She tipped her face back far enough to peer up at him. Far enough for him to see the fiery color flare in her cheeks again.

  “You mean a man might get aroused just from holding a beautiful woman in his arms and kissing her—feeling her breasts pressed against his chest, breathing in the scent of her skin, imagining what it would be like to—”

  She covered his mouth with her hand. “I didn’t mean—”

  “Feet on the floor, cards on the table, Molly.”

  “Oh, my mercy, all right! Me, too, for what it’s worth. I mean, I was, too—feeling that way. Only, with a woman, men can’t tell.”

  “I can tell.” His voice sounded as if someone had a hammerlock on his larynx.

  “You can? How?”

  “First clue? Your pupils are dilated. Second? Your pulse is too fast. Third? You’re breathing as if you’ve just run a three-minute mile.”

  “All right, you made your point.” And then, “I am?” she asked wonderingly.

  “You’re still here, right? You could have walked away. And then there’s this,” he murmured as he lowered his face to hers.

  One kiss merged into another. By the time they came up for air, Molly’s sweatshirt was on the floor. Rafe’s hand-tailored shirt was unbuttoned and tugged free of his belt. Shag had had his way with Molly’s pie and was licking the empty saucer across the floor.

  No one noticed. No one cared. Somehow they managed to reach the bedroom without barging into anything. Rafe left the door open so that light from the living room fell through the doorway. Molly flung back the quilt just before they collapsed onto the bed, then Rafe tugged it over them both. He was burning up. She was shivering, but probably not from cold.

  Fleetingly she considered confessing that she wasn’t particularly experienced. She had slept with only one man in her life, and hadn’t especially enjoyed it. Cards on the table and all that.

  But the thought was lost when she felt his fingers on the buttons of her jeans. Frantically they finished undressing each other. Hands tangled, the quilt ended up in a heap on the floor, but by that time neither of them had need of the additional warmth.

  Rafe felt on the floor for his khakis and managed to extract his wallet from the hip pocket. There should be a single condom there, left over from his pre-Belle days. One should do it. It wasn’t as if this would lead to anything more, it was just a case of—

  Of letting off steam, he told himself. Bleeding the pressure down to a safe level.

  And then Molly touched him and his brain shut down. Her hands were small, her touch tentative, but he stiffened and caught his breath.

  She snatched her hand away. “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to—it was an accident.”

  He captured her hand and brought it to his lips. “Molly, Molly, don’t apologize. This is for both of us. I just don’t want it to end too fast.”

  “No, of course not, I understand. I won’t do anything or say anything to—”

  He had to laugh. Here he was, so damned hard he ached with it, and all he could do was lie there laughing. It did nothing at all to relieve the tension. Turning onto his side, he drew her close and eased his knee between her thighs. Her flesh was surprisingly cool. He was hot as an afterburner. She lay perfectly still for several moments, her uneven breathing the only sign that she was as aroused as he was. Rafe slid one hand up between them and tipped her chin up so that he could study her face.

  “Molly? We don’t have to go through with this if you’ve changed your mind. A nice, cold midnight swim and I’ll be just fine.” He vaguely recalled thinking those same thoughts not too long ago. Back to square one. How the hell had that happened?

  “I want to.”

  Her voice was so soft he was afraid he’d misunderstood her. And then he caught on. And swore. “He wanted you silent and passive. Is that it?”

  She swallowed hard and nodded, her hair brushing his chin. “Oh, baby—oh, sweetheart, that was his loss. I could almost feel sorry for the poor bastard, but I have an idea he might have put you through some rough times, even more than you let on.” He lifted her thigh and eased it over his hip so that they were nestled together in breathtaking intimacy. “Talk. Touch. Tell me what you want, Molly—we’re equal partners in this. Your pleasure only doubles mine.”

  And when she didn’t react immediately, he lowered his lips to her breast. “Tell me what you want. Do you like this?” He suckled her gently, and then not so gently. Her nipples were amazingly responsive. “What about this? How does it make you feel?”

  He could tell without words how it made her feel. Her toes curled against his shins, her hips moved as if she couldn’t get close enough, and when he slipped one hand down between them and found her, she reacted instantly.

  And then, somehow, they shifted until it was her lips on his nipples, her fingers toying tentatively with the base of his throbbing erection. As if she were afraid of exploring further.

  “Rafe?”

  Between clenched jaws, he managed to answer her. “Yeah—oh, yes!”

  “Do you feel anything when I kiss your breasts?”

  “Let me put it this way, sweetheart—” He could barely control his voice, but in the interests of freeing her of inhibitions, he went on. “Had a house once—lightning struck a tree just outside, ran in on some buried wires. Burned the insulation off the inside wiring, blackened an entire wall and blew off a few switch plates. Feeling your mouth on my nipple is…comparable.”

  “It’s all connected, isn’t it?”

  “Yes’m, that it is. Breast bone connected to the, uh—other bone. And I have to tell you, if you go on doing what you’re doing, you’re going to blow a few major circuits.”

  He moved over her then, and even in the near dark he could see her smile. White teeth, shining eyes. Lowering his face, he murmured against her mouth as he parted her and eased into position. “Molly, sweet Molly, what am I going to do with you?”

  Her hips lifted to meet him,
welcoming him into her body, and to his amazement she uttered a breathless chuckle. “I hope…that’s a rhetorical…question. Oh, yess-s. Please…”

  One slow, measured thrust. And then another. And then there was no holding back, for either of them. Molly began to whimper as the fiercest of all pleasures gathered strength and fed on itself like a wildfire inferno, until it ended in one mindless explosion of profound pleasure.

  Still holding her sweat-slick body in his trembling arms as the earth slowly settled back on its axis, Rafe became uneasily aware that something had changed. Over the past twenty-odd years he had had sex more times than he could recall, and enjoyed almost every occasion. He always took care to see that his partners shared his enjoyment and he invariably parted on good terms with his lovers.

  Except in the technical sense, Molly was not a lover. And that was part of the problem—he didn’t know exactly what she was. She didn’t fit into any of his neat pigeonholes. Her ego had been bruised. She’d been needy, and he’d been here at the right time. One thing had led to another and they’d ended up in bed.

  Where was the harm in that? he rationalized. She had enjoyed it as much as he had, if those kittenlike whimpers and that single, wide-eyed yelp had been any indication. If he’d snapped his fingers and produced a light show on the order of the aurora borealis, she couldn’t have looked more dumbstruck. You’d think she’d never climaxed before.

  Too exhausted at the moment to locate his clothes and beat a strategic retreat, Rafe lay there beside her in the double bed and stared at the ceiling. This was going to take some careful diplomacy. In the space of a few days they had met, gone from suspicion to armed truce, to guarded friendship…and now this.

  Whatever this was. He still didn’t understand it. Molly wasn’t his type. He wasn’t in love with her. Liked her, sure, but hell, he liked all the women he slept with.

  Could it have been the laughter? Come to think of it, he couldn’t remember laughing with a woman right up to the moment when he’d buried himself inside her. He’d have thought laughter would have dampened the fire.