Wayward Dreams

by Gail McFarland

  “Where’s the omelet pan?”

  “The what?”

  “Little skillet, about so big?” he said, using his fingers to frame the size.

  “Uh…pots and pans…” It took her a minute to remember where she’d tucked the box and pull it free. Never used, the omelet pan rested in a careful nest of wrapping paper. “Is this what you wanted?”

  “Exactly,” he said, taking the pan. “Now, what are we going to put in this omelet?”

  “I don’t know. I was going to scramble the eggs, remember?”

  “Just about anything can go into an omelet.” He looked to the refrigerator, then back to her. “Do you mind?”

  “Be my guest.”

  Harry pulled the door open and smiled. Clearly, she’d just gone grocery shopping—and judging from what he found, she liked grocery shopping. Opening the cooling drawers, he found what he was looking for—avocados, cheese, eggs, and assorted vegetables.

  “This is going to be great,” he announced, rubbing his hands together.

  “If you say so.” Bianca collected bowls from a cabinet and set them on the counter in front of him. He seemed to know what he was doing, so she got out of his way. When he set her wooden cutting board in front of her, she reached for a paring knife and tried to look like she knew what to do with it.

  Harry pushed vegetables across the counter. “If you clean and chop, I’ll handle the cooking.”

  “Sounds like a plan.” Bianca went to work following his instructions. Finished, she asked, “Now, what?”

  Harry went back to the refrigerator and pulled out two bananas. The bright yellow fruit she’d taken so much care to select on her last trip to the store was now dark and cold-withered.

  Bianca frowned and shook her head. “We can’t use those. I don’t know why they always turn brown so fast.”

  “It’s because you put them in the refrigerator. The cold does it. How about salvaging them and making a little quick bread?”

  “Quick bread?” Bianca pulled a high wicker-seated stool from the wall to the counter and sat. “Who does that? And how do you know anything about making it?”

  “I learned from my grandmother. There was no way Patti-cake was going to let me grow up in the South and not know my way around a kitchen.”

  “You call your grandmother Patti-cake?” Bianca snickered. “That must be the, uh, African-American grandmother.”

  “What gave it away?”

  “Patti-cake.”

  “That’s what she wanted to be called, so that’s what we call her.” Harry quickly peeled and mashed the bananas. He didn’t bother with measuring cups and spoons as he poured and stirred ingredients. In the kitchen with Bianca, using his grandmother’s recipe and making a meal on a Saturday morning felt like the most natural thing on Earth, and it made him smile.

  “Bet you’re her pride and joy. Can’t believe you cook. I would never have figured you for a mama’s boy.”

  He stopped and looked at her. “What would you have figured me for?”

  She eyed him closely, debating how much to tell him and how much of herself she would be giving away if she told him what she really thought.

  “A jock,” she finally said. “If I didn’t know you cook and sing old Motown, I would figure you for a…” she stopped and looked at him closely. Tall, broad-shouldered, with long powerful legs and arms, he looked like a man who might play football. Looking at the crockery bowl and wooden spoon in his big capable hands, she thought they were the hands of a man who would never drop anything entrusted to him.

  She played with the ends of her ponytail, curling the hair around a single finger. “If I didn’t know anything else about you, and I just happened to meet you on the street, I would figure you for a football player; a receiver.”

  “Close.” His lips lifted and he handed her the greased pan for the bread batter.

  “How close?”

  “College,” he replied, moving the omelet pan to the range. Pouring the egg mixture into the hot skillet, he directed her to pour the batter into the loaf pan.

  “College?” Bianca prompted.

  “Yeah, and you’re right. I played wide receiver; did pretty well, too. I just didn’t see football as my future.”

  Yeah, I would have known you at first glance, if you had. Considering her past and the football players who had passed through her life, the thought was disconcerting and more than a little embarrassing. Her hand trembled slightly when she finally turned the batter into the loaf pan. “So you walked away from football?”

  “More like I didn’t get a choice. I was good, not great, and pro football is a game that demands great.” He shrugged and reached for her wrist, his fingers touching the band of the watch she’d just gotten back last night and the contact, slight as it was, seemed to charge the watchband with electricity. Surprised, she caught her breath.

  It was the watch AJ had given her, the one she had pawned when life slammed her face down to the bottom of the barrel. When she’d walked into the pawn shop last night, the man at the counter looked a little surprised, probably thinking that down-on-their-luck women pawned their jewelry and never looked back.

  But he was wrong. Bianca came back and felt hope in her heart when she turned in the pawn ticket and repaid the loan. It felt like redemption when the man slid the watch across the counter and into her hands. Fastening the watch on her wrist made her feel more like herself. Her property was back where it belonged.

  Paying off that loan had done more than just redeem her watch; it had set a bar for her, one she promised herself she would never fall beneath again. When Harry’s hand moved from her wrist to her hand and her pulse bumped, she remembered her promise again. “Everybody is not meant for great,” she said thoughtfully, “but everybody is meant for something. Where did your decision lead you?”

  “I followed my heart. I’ve always loved math, so I followed the numbers, and wound up fascinated by high-level computer and robotic security.”

  “A geek?” A man this good-looking? A man who walked around looking as hot as he did, even wearing an apron over his Nike shirt and jeans? She looked directly into his eyes and laughed when his long lashes swept low. “That’s something else I would never have figured you for. So who are you now, Harry?”

  “Now? I’m CEO of NeoTech and currently the Chief Breakfast Maker at your house. Want to taste?” he asked, scraping the spatula along the side of the bowl and offering it to her.

  Bianca took hold of his wrist. “I don’t like mean tricks,” she warned, seeing nothing mean in his amused eyes. “You’d better not be planning to get this batter on my face.”

  His hand was steady. “No joke, I just want you to taste it. It’s really good.”

  She was tempted but not fully trusting. “You first.”

  “Big baby, all you have to do is try it. Like this.” His tongue slid over the batter and he closed his eyes, tasting the flavorful sweetness he remembered from his childhood. “Now you.”

  Bianca held his wrist and let her tongue slip through the batter. “It is good.”

  “Told you.”

  He turned the spatula and shared a taste with her, their faces close. Her eyes closed as her tongue found another bit of goodness near his lips.

  What is it about this man? I’m drawn to him like sugar water draws a bee, and…

  She opened her eyes to find his, and they made her believe that he was where she belonged and had always been headed. His hand skimmed her cheek, stealing a tiny bit of her will, and the part of her that wanted to run was overruled by the rhythm of her own heartbeat.

  What had been lazy desire, born with the sound of his voice over the phone, surged ripe and insistent, syncing her pulse to his and shredding her nerves. His arms opened without warning, and the spatula fell into the sink as she went into his arms, pressed body to body. The distance between what she had and what she wanted felt like falling and her arms went around him in defense.

  Her heat seeped into
his skin and called for response. Never meaning to take it further than a taste of sweetness, just enough to last until…until he didn’t need or want it so much, Harry felt desire wrest control from him. Molded to her, wrapped around her, his lips hovered and his hand moved, the fingers curling around the back of her neck, bringing her face closer.

  Then he kissed her, a glancing touch at first, lips as gentle as a feather, leaving only yearning behind. His lips touched her again and she melted into him, traces of their shared craving branding them both. He hadn’t expected to be so hungry for her and the hunger ached, sending echoes of lust smoking through his body when his tongue joined hers, slipping into moistness and the flavor of her.

  They’d kissed before, but those casually chaste kisses-in-passing left him unprepared for the rush of desire that crowded him and savaged his senses. It was as though he’d always known how she would fit against him, how she would feel moving with him, and being here with her now just proved it.

  His hand moved against the silky naked flesh rising above her jeans, and he had an unclouded vision of what lay barely within his grasp. And he wanted it more desperately than he had ever wanted anything in his life. A single finger dipped beneath her denim boundaries, and she tore her mouth from his, gasping his name. His hand went flat, then curved into her back and she gasped again, her hips pushing into his.

  “Harry…” Her whisper was raw and urgent.

  “Harry…” Her fingers moved, sliding up to his shoulders and she would have said more, but the smoke alarm screamed first.

  “What the hell? The omelet,” he groaned, releasing Bianca and grabbing a dish towel. She scooted out of his way and headed for the window when he shoved the smoking pan into the sink. The scream of the smoke alarm died around them and the acrid smell of burning food filled the kitchen. Shaking his head, Harry looked down at the blackened remains of what should have been their breakfast.

  When Bianca pressed a hand to his shoulder, he slipped his arm around her waist, more companionably this time. She dropped her head to his chest and relaxed against him. “This is…I don’t know what this is.”

  “I know what it is. It’s us messing up a perfectly good breakfast,” Harry said, resting his cheek against her hair. “I can’t remember the last time I burned anything.”

  “Life must be hard when you’re perfect,” she joked, plucking an oven mitt from the counter and handing it to him.

  “Yeah, it can be.” The oven mitt slid over his hand like it belonged to him, and he bent to pull the bread from the oven. “At least this survived.”

  “Harry? Did you forget what we were doing before all this frying and burning and baking interrupted us?”

  “Who, me? Forget? No, uh-uh.” Leaving the bread on the counter, he stepped toward her with his arms open, and then looked confused when her stiff arm jammed his chest and stopped his progress. “Okay, this is not going where I thought it was…”

  She kept her hand firmly planted on his chest, and her arm stayed stiff. “Harry, damn it, I’m a frog. Okay? You can’t go around kissing frogs the way you just kissed me.”

  “What?”

  “I told you my life was complicated. You’ve already met Kelvin.”

  Harry put his hand over the one she’d jammed against his chest and she felt her arm weakening. Aw, Harry…

  “You’ve seen Vive la Reine from the outside and you know it’s real. There’s still a lot of work to be done there, and I work at Kin Kura full-time. I still have this Neiman’s order to complete. Harry, I don’t have time to be your fairytale princess. I’m not even sure I know what to do with a good man in good circumstances. You keep kissing me the way you just did, you’re going to wind up with a lot of warts.” Her weakened knees gave way and she slid to the kitchen floor, dragging him down with her. “They kind of go with the package.”

  “I’m not afraid of frogs,” he assured her, moving his long legs to frame her body.

  “Harry, you don’t know how many mistakes I’ve made in my life.”

  “You’re not scaring me. I’m not afraid of frogs.” He slipped his hands beneath her bent knees and pulled her close. “One of these days, you’re going to learn that I mean what I say, and you’re going to learn to trust what I tell you.”

  “I trust you, Harry. It’s not you, it’s me. I haven’t always been all that trustworthy.”

  Tilting his head, he waited.

  “I mean, I’m not a sneak-thief and I don’t lie all that much.” She frowned, struggling to find words that would give fair warning without scaring him off. “Harry, I haven’t always been the nicest person, and I haven’t always done the right thing for the right reasons.”

  “Are you in some kind of trouble?”

  “Not the way you mean,” she said, fanning a hand in irritation. “Don’t stop me, this is hard enough as it is. I’m just saying that mine is a life you probably don’t want to get tangled up in. I’m not an innocent, and some of the things I’ve done have come back to bite me on the butt.”

  “Look, you’re a grown woman, not a kid. The nature of being grown is experience, good or bad. And yeah, I met the ex-boyfriend, and you can definitely do better. I’m willing to take my chances.” His lips brushed hers. “I think I like kissing frogs.”

  Their bodies were close, but if she had really tried, she could have drawn away from him; it wasn’t too late for her to move. But her body made the decision for her and she stayed where she was. Harry made the same decision; neither of them moved. Sitting on the floor, want and need held like a webbing of fine thread between them.

  “Kissing is nice, but you want more,” Bianca finally said, wondering why the words fell so far short of what she had meant to say. She’d meant to say, I want more.

  “I never said that.”

  “You didn’t have to. I’m grown, remember? I know what goes on between men and women.” Her fingers closed on his hands and it took all her will to move them from her face. She needed to think.

  “Look, Bianca,” he said, his voice low and smoky. “We don’t have to take this any further, if you don’t want to. I came down here for breakfast. We messed that up. We can go out, eat, talk, and still be friends. No harm, no foul.”

  “Or we can stay here, and I can show you my bed.”

  “You have a way of coming right to the point.”

  “Think so? Harry, with my track record, wanting you and having you are two different things—and I need to do it right.”

  Need. I said need. She’d deliberately chosen the word, knowing that wants could be shrugged off and you would still live. Demands could be called silly or simply be refused. But needs were more tangible. They were stronger and deeper, like what she felt sitting between his legs in the middle of her kitchen floor.

  “Need is a strong word,” he said softly. Bianca thought she would scream. “I want you, Bianca.”

  “Aw, Harry…” He said want, not need. Her heart fell a little, but she wanted him, too. It wasn’t fair to expect him to need what she needed. Eyes open, willing to feed the want in her soul and let need fend for itself, Bianca brought her mouth to his and made her choice. With his eyes on hers, they shared a long quiet kiss before she pulled away, knowing there was another question to answer. Bianca opened her mouth and closed it.

  How am I going to ask this man if he has a condom with him?

  His fingers caught stray stands of hair curling at her cheek and moved them gently when she opened her mouth again. “Harry,” she said slowly…

  “Condoms.”

  “I have some,” she said, hoping not to choke.

  His hand cradled her face when he nodded. She wanted this, and she saw in the intensity of his gaze, that he did, too. Between them, there was want and heat—sexy, tempting, and undeniable. Neither of them had meant to go this far, no matter the attraction. Neither of them had planned to make her bed a place of joining, yet here they were with Bianca silently leading him through her home.

  Her bedroom
was nothing like Harry had imagined. Deeply feminine, there was nothing frilly or girly about the room. There were no silken coverlets or mounds of pillows, no sheer ruffled curtains tied back with ribbons. Somehow the shades of blue and green, touched with yellow and mauve, made her more real to him. This room said she was right; she was no fairy-tale princess. She was a real flesh-and-blood woman, and when she dropped his hand and turned into his arms, she left him with no doubts.

  Crushed against him, and offering no resistance, she was where she wanted to be and dared Harry not to show her why. With his hungry mouth on hers, there was no need to think, no need to deny the desire to share herself with him—there was only him.

  She felt his hands move over her, tugging at the soft yellow shirt, finding her like treasure. His mouth was hot on the tender flesh of her throat, leaving her vulnerable and reeling. She wanted more. Skimming over the back of his shirt, her fingers lost patience, and she pulled until the shirt gave way. Letting her hands lift and glide over his warm naked back, she clung to him and rode the swirl of sensation he brought.

  The large bed bumped at her knees, dropping her to her back and she pulled him with her. Awash in the sensations of him, she heard her heartbeat and tasted the dark flavors of him. His skin was tight and firm; it smelled of soap and him.

  He pulled at her shirt and for a moment, she was helpless as her arms caught. He pulled again and she gasped when her bra flew away. His lips, teeth, and tongue trailed over her breasts, tasting her, and when her hips arched fiercely beneath him, rolling him, Harry felt control spin away. Gripping his passion by the frayed edges of sanity, he let her wild fingers rip at his jeans, helped her find the way to peel them from him, then rolled her off his hips. He touched her and their shared heat softened her skin.

  The jeans came off, and, wearing only her watch, she stretched long against the track of his muscled body. Energy and passion raced between them and fought for dominance. Climbing and striving to meet her craving, Harry thought he’d won the contest, only to find her demanding more when he expected surrender, and he couldn’t stop himself from tumbling deeper.