by Diana Palmer
She trembled a little, because she was. Afraid that he didn't care enough, that he might regret his decision. He might fall in love again someday with some one else like Nina, and what would she do? She'd have to let him go.
It was happening so fast. Almost too fast. She hesitated. "Blake, maybe we should just get engaged…" she began worriedly.
He lifted his head and searched her eyes. "No."
"But—"
He put a long finger over her lips. "Do you remember what we said to each other when we came in here? About precautions?"
She colored. "Yes."
"Marriage and children are synonymous to me," he said quietly. "I think they are to you, too. I'm illegitimate, Meredith. I won't let my child be called what I was."
She sighed. "Does it really bother you so much?"
"I'd like to know who my father was at least," he replied. "Half my heritage is lost forever, because I have no idea who he was or what his background is. I can't tell Sarah anything about him. She'll ask someday."
"She'll understand, too," she replied. "She's a very special little girl. She's so much like you."
His green eyes searched hers. "We could have another daughter," he said. "Or a son."
She held her breath while he touched her flat stomach under the long open pajama top. Her heart went crazy when he looked down, watching the tips of her bare breasts harden helplessly.
She tried to pull the fabric together, but he caught her hands and held them gently.
"No," he said. "You can't imagine the pleasure it gives me just to see you like that."
Her breath sighed past her parted lips. "It's hard."
"I know." He lifted his eyes back to hers, searching them in a long, static silence. "It was for me, too, believe it or not. But I let you look at me, and I wasn't embarrassed." He smiled faintly. "I couldn't let Nina."
She reached up and touched her lips to his. "I'm glad," she said huskily.
He pulled her against him, nudging the pajama top out of the way so that her breasts brushed slowly against his hair-roughened chest, and she caught her breath with pleasure at the exquisite friction.
"We've got a lot to learn about this," he said softly. "We can learn it together."
He drew her to him with a long, warm sigh and kissed her.
"Good night, little one," he whispered.
"Good night, Blake."
He closed his eyes, sure that he'd never been happier in his entire life. He pulled her closer and sighed when he felt her arms go around him. For a beginning, it was perfect.
But the next morning, when he awoke and found Meredith lying asleep in his bed, the perfection waned. His body surged at the sight of her, and he realized belatedly that the hunger he'd thought assuaged last night had only grown with feeding. He wanted her more now than ever, with a fever that actually made him shake as he looked at her sleeping body.
The realization terrified him. He'd never been vulnerable. Even Nina hadn't really knocked him off balance very far, or tested his control over his emotions. But Meredith did. She was the very air he breathed, the sun in his sky. He felt a rush of possessiveness when he looked at her, a desperate need to keep her, to protect her. He got out of bed and stared at her as if he'd gone mad. He'd sworn that he would never let her get to his heart, but last night he'd given her a lien on it. This morning, she owned him lock, stock and barrel.
He swallowed down a wave of nausea. The tender loving of the night faded into cold fear with the dawn. He didn't trust women, and now that distrust had extended itself to Meredith all over again. As long as he could persuade himself that it was only physical, marriage hadn't bothered him. But what he was feeling this morning gave new meaning to the situation.
He could care for her. He could go crazy over her after a few more nights like last night. He could be so enamored of her that he'd do anything she wanted just to feel her arms around him. And that realization was what caught him by the throat—that he might not be able to keep his pride, his independence. He was afraid of her because he might love her, and he couldn't trust her enough to give in to her. She might be just like Nina. How could he know before it was too late?
Like a trapped animal, he felt the need to run, to get away, to think it through.
He got up and got dressed, taking one long, hungry look at Meredith before he forced himself to jerk open the door and go out. Last night everything had been so simple, until he'd touched her for the first time. And now he was mired up to his neck in quicksand. He didn't know what to do. He had the most ridiculous urge to go out and get Meredith an armload of roses. God knows, it must be the first stages of insanity, he thought as he went down the stairs and out the back door.
Nine
Meredith woke up slowly, aware of new surroundings and light coming into her room from the wrong direction. Then she moved, and her body told her that the light wasn't the only difference.
She sat up. She was in Blake's bedroom, in Blake's bed, wearing Blake's pajama top. Her face burned. The night before came back with startling clarity. She'd given in. More than given in. She'd participated wildly in what she and Blake had done together.
Her breath came unsteadily as wave after wave of remembered pleasure tingled in her sore body. She looked around, wondering if Blake was in the bathroom. But she spotted his pajama bottoms laid across the foot of the bed, and his boots were missing. They'd been sitting beside the armchair last night.
She got out of bed slowly, a little disoriented. "Bess!" she exclaimed, then remembered that she'd called Bess just after they'd gotten home last night to tell her that she was spending the night to help Blake with Sarah. Wouldn't Bess be grinning when she got back home this morning, she moaned to herself.
She put back on the clothes she'd taken off—the clothes that Blake had taken off for her, she corrected—and pulled on her socks and sneakers before she combed her hair.
In the mirror she could see the imprint of her head and Blake's on the pillows, and she blushed. Well, it was too late now for regrets. He'd said that they were getting married, so she might as well reconcile herself to her new status in his life. At least they were physically compatible and she loved him desperately. Perhaps someday he might learn to love her back. He was already different, mostly due, she was sure, to Sarah's gentle influence.
She opened the door and went to Sarah's room, but the little girl was nowhere in sight.
"If you're awake, breakfast is ready," Blake called from the foot of the staircase.
She looked down, thrilling to the sight of him, tall and dark headed, dressed in gray slacks and shirt with a lightweight tan sport coat and brown striped tie. He looked very elegant, and just a little somber.
That didn't bode well. She almost missed a step on her way down, nervous and shy with him after the night before. Her face was wildly colored and she couldn't look at him.
She paused two steps above him because his hand shot out and kept her there. His green eyes forced her to look at him, and he searched her face quietly.
"Come here," he said gently. "I've got something for you."
His big, lean hand curved possessively over hers and his fingers tangled in her cold ones as he led her into the hall and stopped her at the chair, which was covered with waxed paper that held dozens of small pink roses, their fragrance like perfume.
"For me?" she whispered, breathless.
"For you. I went out into the field and cut them early this morning."
She lifted them, burying her nose in their beautiful scent. "Oh, Blake," she moaned with pleasure, and looked up with her heart in her eyes.
He was glad then that he'd followed the crazy impulse in spite of his disturbing thoughts after waking. He bent and brushed his mouth over her forehead, his mood light. "I hoped you might like them," he murmured. "They looked as virginal as you did last night."
Her face felt like fire. "I'm not anymore," she said hesitantly.
He smiled slowly. "I'll carry last night in my
heart until I die, Meredith Anne," he told her huskily. "It was everything it should have been. Magic."
She smiled into her roses, feeling all womanly and soft when he said things like that.
"Are you sorry that I took the choice away from you?" he asked unexpectedly, and his eyes were serious. "I carried you into my room without asking if it was what you wanted, and I didn't give you much chance to get away."
"Don't you think I could have gotten away if I'd really wanted to?" she asked honestly.
He smiled back at her. "No."
She traced rose petals. "Well, I could have. You didn't force me."
"In a way I did," he replied worriedly. "I didn't try to protect you. I don't want to force you into marriage with the threat of pregnancy."
Her eyebrows lifted. "Threat?" she picked up on the word. "Oh, no, it isn't that. A baby is…" Her breath caught as she searched his eyes and felt the hunger for a child. "Blake, a baby would be the sweetest thing in the world."
His heart began to race as he looked at her. "That's what I thought, too," he said. "That's why I didn't try to hold back." He smiled ruefully. "And the fact is, I don't think I could have. Years of abstinence makes it pretty hard for a man to keep his head."
Her eyes widened. "You meant it?" she exclaimed. "It was actually that long?"
He nodded. "Now I'm glad," he confessed. "It made it that much more intense with you." He framed her face with his lean hands and bent to savor her lips with his warm, moist ones. "So intense," he whispered roughly, "that I want it again and again and again. Every time I look at you, my body burns."
His mouth became demanding, and she felt the quick, violent response of his body to the feel of hers.
"So does mine," she whispered back, reaching up with her free hand to cling to his neck. "Blake," she moaned as his hands dropped to her hips and pulled her hard against him.
"God!" he groaned, and his mouth covered hers urgently.
Somewhere in the fever they were sharing, a door opened.
"Daddy? Meredith? Where are you?"
They broke apart with heated faces, trembling bodies and faintly crushed roses. "We're here," Blake said, recovering quickly. "We'll be there in a minute, Sarah. I was just giving Meredith her roses."
"Okay, Daddy. Aren't they nice, Merry?"
"Yes, darling," she murmured absently, but her eyes were on Blake as the child went back through to the kitchen.
"You aren't going home tonight," he said huskily. "I've got you and I'm keeping you, and to hell with gossip. I'll get the license tomorrow and arrange for blood tests with my doctor. I'll phone you from my office in the morning with the time. Meanwhile—" he smiled slowly "—you can go over to Bess's and get a change of clothes."
"What will I tell her?" she groaned.
"That we're getting married and you're taking care of Sarah while Mrs. Jackson's away," he said simply. He pulled her hand to his lips and kissed it warmly. "Sarah and I will even go with you to make things respectable. But first we'll have breakfast. Okay?"
She sighed with pure delight. "Okay. But I'll have to go to my apartment in San Antonio this week," she added.
"I'll take time off to go with you Tuesday. Sarah can come, too." He bent, half lifting her against his lean, hard body. "I'm not letting you out of my sight any more than I have to. You might decide to run for it."
"If you think that, you underestimate yourself," she murmured, and buried her face in his throat. "I don't have the strength to get away."
His hands contracted. "How sore are you?" he asked intimately.
She burrowed closer. "Blake…!"
"Is it bad?"
She grimaced and looked up at him, hesitating.
"Tell me the truth," he said. "It will spare us a lot of frustration later—if I start making love to you and have to stop."
"It's uncomfortable," she confessed finally, averting her eyes.
But he tilted her chin and forced her to look at him. "No secrets between us," he said. "Not ever. I want the truth, no matter how much it hurts, and you'll always get it from me."
"All right," she said. "I want it that way, too."
His eyes brushed over her soft features with lazy warmth. "You look very pretty without makeup," he remarked. "As pretty as these roses." He glanced at them and frowned. "We've bruised them a bit."
"They'll forgive us," she said. She reached up to kiss him softly. "Will your board of directors understand your taking two days off in one week?" she asked. "For a blood test and a license and then to go with me to Texas?"
"I haven't taken two days off in five years, so they'd better." He let her, go. "Let's get breakfast. Then we'll go see Bess and Bobby."
She curled under his arm and, carrying her precious roses, let him guide her to the table.
It was cozy in the kitchen. Blake kept watching her and Meredith could hardly keep from bursting into song with the sheer joy of having him look at her that way. He might not love her, but he was already very, very possessive. And in time, love might come.
"Meredith and I are going to get married, Sarah," Blake said. "She's going to live with us and take care of you and write books."
Sarah's eyes lit up and the expression on the small face was humbling. "Are you, Merry? Are you going to be my mommy?" she asked, as if they were offering her the earth.
"Yes." Meredith smiled. "I'm going to be your mommy and hug and kiss you and tell you stories and-oh!"
Sarah ran to her like a whirlwind, almost knocking the breath out of her as she climbed onto her lap and clung, crying and mumbling things that Meredith couldn't understand.
"What is it, honey?" Blake asked, torn out of his normal calm by the child's totally unexpected reaction. He touched Sarah's dark hair gently. "What is it?" he repeated.
"I can stay now, can't I, Daddy?" Sarah asked him with wet red eyes. "I don't have to go. Merry is going to live with us and I'll be her little girl, too."
"Of course you can stay," Blake said shortly. "There was never any question of that."
"When I first came," she reminded him, "you said I could go to a… a home!"
"Damn my vicious tongue," Blake burst out. He got up, lifting Sarah out of Meredith's arms and into his own. He held her close, his green eyes steady on hers. "You'll never live in any home but mine," he said huskily. "You're my own flesh and blood, my own little girl. I…" He choked on the words. His jaw worked. "I… care for you—very much," he bit off finally.
Even at her age, Sarah seemed to realize what a difficult thing it was for him to say. She lowered her cheek to his shoulder with a sigh and smiled through her tears. "I love you, too, Daddy," she said.
Blake didn't know how he managed not to break down and cry. His arms contracted around her and he turned so that Meredith couldn't see his face. In all his life he'd never been so shaken.
"How about some more coffee?" Meredith asked gently. "I'll get it, okay?" She went to the stove to pour coffee from the percolator into the carafe, and her eyes were wet. She felt stunned by Blake's brief display of vulnerability, his hope for the future. If he could love Sarah, he could love others. She dabbed at her eyes and filled the carafe. Miracles did happen, after all.
When she turned back to the table, Sarah was sitting on Blake's lap. And she stayed there for the rest of breakfast, her small face full of love and wonder. Blake just looked smug.
"What about your work?" Blake asked when they'd finished breakfast and Sarah had excused herself to go and watch her eternal cartoons in the living room.
"I just need a place to set up my computer," she said.
His eyebrows arched. "What have you got?"
"An IBM compatible," she said. "Twin disk drives, over 600K memory, word processing software, a big daisy wheel printer and a modem."
"Come and look over my setup." She let him take her hand and lead her into the study. "It's just like mine!" she exclaimed when she saw what he had on his desk. He smiled at her. "A good omen?"
"Won
derful! Now we'll both have a spare," she said with a dancing glance.
"You can work here when I'm not home. And if you want to set up your equipment in the corner, we'll order another desk and some filing cabinets."
"It won't bother you?" she asked hesitantly. "I work odd hours. Sometimes, if I get on a streak, I may work into the small hours of the morning."
"I'm marrying you," he said. "That includes your job, your eccentricities, your bad habits and your temper. I don't mind what you do. You're entitled to a life that allows you the right to be your own person, to make your own dreams come true in business."
"I thought you were a chauvinist," she said. "That's the wrong attitude. You're supposed to refuse to let me work outside the home and say that no job is going to come before you."
He arched an eyebrow. "Okay, if that's what you want."
She hit his chest playfully. "Never mind. I like you better this way." She reached up and slid her arms around his neck. "Sarah says she won't mind if I hug and kiss her. So can I hug and kiss you, too?" she asked daringly.
His mouth quirked a little. "I guess so."
"You might show more enthusiasm," she said.
He bent his head and whispered, "I can't. You're sore."
She blushed and opened her mouth to protest just as his came down and settled over her lips. He kissed her gently, swinging her lightly in his arms from side to side as he held her mouth under his.
"That was nice," she told him huskily.
"I thought so, too." he let her go abruptly, the hardness back in his face. "I'll line up a charter flight to San Antonio for Tuesday. We can have your furniture sent out."
"It's a furnished apartment." She smiled. "All I have is my clothes, a few manuscripts and my computer stuff."
"Okay. We'll have that sent out."
"Blake, you're sure, aren't you?" she asked seriously.