Dream Keeper

by Gail McFarland

  Fourth of July coming up. Peachtree Road Race…She didn’t accept an apology then, either. Thinking back to his first meeting with Marlea, AJ almost smiled.

  She was stubborn then, and she’s stubborn now. She has no business getting mixed up in Rissa and Dench’s business. If God meant for them to have a baby, well, she’d be pregnant, wouldn’t she? He thought of Dench’s face the day Rissa lost their baby. But that’s not our business—we’ve got our own babies, and they’re what should matter right now. Besides, Rissa and Dench…they could always adopt.

  What kid wouldn’t want them for parents?

  Stepping down from the porch, AJ bent his long frame to sit on the top step. Reaching out, he plucked at the petals of one of the sunflowers growing nearby and thought of his sister. She’d helped Marlea and the kids plant the flowers.

  I don’t care. He pushed his sister’s face from his thoughts. I don’t want Silk involved. I don’t want her hurt. He fingered the flower petals again. I don’t care what they say about the process, in vitro is supposed to be tricky. It only takes one time for something to go wrong…and to spend the rest of her life looking at a child she’d carried but could never claim…His jaw tightened and he felt a small muscle jump from the pressure.

  She called me selfish. Silk knows that there’s nothing in the world I wouldn’t do for her and the kids—how is that selfish? He twisted the petals that came from the sunflower. It’s not that I don’t love Rissa, I do. I always have, I always will. And Dench will always be my brother. For a long minute, he tried to see his wife’s point, to try to pinpoint where the fear really lived. No, it’s not worth the chance of anything going wrong, or something happening to Silk. Nothing is worth that.

  Behind him, the door opened, sucking at the air. AJ turned to see Marlea standing framed in the doorway. She’d taken the time to shower and change into running clothes, but he knew her well enough to know that she hadn’t changed her mind.

  “Hey,” she said. She licked her lips and stood with one hand on the door.

  “Hey.”

  “Maybe you should come in, put on some clothes?”

  “Or you could come out?” He patted the space on the step beside him.

  “And have you do to me what you just did to that sunflower? No, I think I’ll keep my distance until you calm down.”

  She smiled and AJ felt a little better. He moved his bare foot over the broken flower petals and grinned. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

  “Figures.” She crossed her arms and struggled to keep her smile in place. “I don’t want to fight anymore, AJ. Can we just set all this aside for a little while?”

  “I’m not going to change my mind.” He stood and brushed the petals from the step with his foot.

  “Neither am I,” she said, holding her hand out to him. “But before we fall out over this, can we wait and see if it even matters?”

  “I can, if you can.” Standing, he took her hand and looked into her eyes. “But I won’t change my mind.”

  “Then I guess it’s a darned good thing I love you.”

  Chapter 12

  He felt her enter the house, her presence soft on the change of air when she opened the door. The approaching click of her heels on the hardwood floors only added to his anticipation. Holding the razor and his breath, Dench stood before the tempered copper vessel sink in his bathroom and watched the vanity mirror. When she turned the corner, pausing to rest her shoulder on the doorframe, he smiled into the mirror. She was worth the wait.

  Standing there in her tailored white shirt and black pencil skirt, matched pearls at her throat and ears, she could have graced the cover of almost any women’s magazine—even with that extra button opened. His eyes followed the inviting button and found the shadow of her lacey bra outlining the lush arc of her breasts. Tucked neatly into the skirt’s band, the shirt almost dared him to remove it, and he silently promised to take that dare the second he finished shaving.

  Eyes still on his in the mirror, Rissa shifted her hips and the magic sent his gaze lower, and his smile widened. The narrow skirt hugged her hips, kissed the sweetly solid mound of her behind before tracing the line of her hips and stopping just above her knees, but it was the stiletto heels that took her outfit to a whole other level for him.

  She might not ever work a pole, but if she wanted to…Dench almost had to slap himself to stop the thought.

  Still leaning against the door, looking at him with a sassy possession that he had to admit he liked, she moved a hand to her hip and cocked her head, letting her hair fall carelessly over her collar, teasing her cheek.

  Damn, Dench thought. She looks…happy.

  The thought surprised him and made him search his memory. Last night, she’d been tired and overworked, a little cranky and not willing to step into the next day. She’d tossed and turned in his arms all night, leaving him sore and his rest broken. Then this morning, she’d run out of the house while he was in the shower, and a trip to the kitchen proved that she’d left without breakfast or a glance at the newspapers. It wasn’t like her to schedule anything when she knew that they would be separated for any amount of time, let alone the week he was going to spend up at Flowery Branch with the team.

  From her place at the door, Rissa lifted a languid hand to brush back her hair, then let her fingers fall easily against her breast. Dench’s hand slowed as he watched her. Happy looks good on her. And for the briefest of moments, he couldn’t remember why he’d been so very concerned by her unexplained early morning absence.

  Wonder what’s going on?

  Now, seeing her standing here like this, it seemed silly, but that had been his first thought that morning as he stood in the empty kitchen. She hadn’t gone off on one those work-obsessed tangents for a while, not since she’d been seeing Chris Gordon. The therapist was good for her and he knew it, even as he made himself calm and reached for trust. Holding onto his faith in Rissa, he’d made coffee and pulled the paper apart. Searching for the sports section, he’d had to shake his head and take a deep breath when he found it.

  So that’s what’s got her so stirred up. And she didn’t say a word to me…

  The photographer had gotten a close-up of Rissa and Marcus Sawyer and the picture really was worth a thousand words. A contrast drawn in steel and clay, she had a fistful of Sawyer’s shirt and her face was close to his. Her features were tightly controlled, the lines of her face elegantly etched in light and shadow. In sharp contrast, the young player’s face was caught in shades of darkness and remorse, seeming to fold in on itself as he bent closer to hear his agent’s words.

  Dench eyed the caption above the picture: JUDGED BY THE COMPANY HE KEEPS. Eyes racing across the page, Dench had skimmed the story and found small relief. At least this time the problem wasn’t fully caused by Sawyer, but had been aggravated by his poor judgment. It seemed that he’d loaned one of his cars to an old friend for a road trip. Preparing for the trip, the friend had loaded his luggage, and then stocked the vehicle with groceries and a kilo of coke.

  Dumb ass.

  Wondering why no one had contacted him, Dench read on and understood. Apparently, when the friend was arrested and the vehicle checked, ownership came to light and Sawyer was picked up for questioning. He’d called his agent. And damn if she didn’t go flying in there like Wonder Woman.

  To separate Sawyer from his buddy in his hearing, Rissa had convinced Sawyer to let her introduce his efforts to straighten himself out—that was probably when the intrepid photographer got his shot. She’d dodged a conflict of interest by not telling her husband about the situation and then she’d gone to the player’s defense. But only after she snatched a knot in his ass, as my Aunt Linda used to say. Dench had to chuckle.

  And that’s why she flew out of here so early, he’d realized, finishing the article. She wanted to make sure that knot was tight enough to keep any other mess from getting on Sawyer—or me and the team. Smart.

  “Can I do that fo
r you?” Rissa used her hip to open a space between her husband and the sink, drawing his attention. Slipping close, she blocked the mirror and got shaving cream on her nose when she nuzzled his cheek.

  Caught in reverie, Dench had a moment to wonder when she’d moved before he surrendered the razor. “Not too close, okay?”

  “Okay.” Her intensity was contagious and he dropped to the dark wooden stool in front of the vanity and sat quietly to let her finish working at the back of his head. “Do you know why I enjoy doing this for you?”

  “No.” He bowed his head to her clever fingers when the razor moved behind his ears.

  “Mostly because I never got to touch you like this before we made our agreement, our new start.” She paused, her palm warm against his scalp. “I can feel you here,” she said. “I can feel you thinking. It’s like a pulse, and I never felt that before we did this.” She touched her lips to the smooth skin and smiled as she finished. “Are you glad we did it?”

  “Decided to get back to being us?” He took the towel from her hands and dabbed at the back of his neck. “Absolutely.”

  She reached past him to turn the hot water on and his eyes fell on the fullness of her bosom, reminding him of his promise to get rid of the shirt at the earliest opportunity. His finger reached, popping the next two buttons free. When she looked at him, he watched her eyes and flicked open another button.

  “I like this shirt,” she said.

  “I’ll buy you another.” His fingers closed on the shirt and they both watched the last buttons fly across the bathroom floor when he pulled.

  “What the heck.” Rissa beat his fingers to the hem of her skirt by less than a second and yanked it high above her hips before she pushed his robe open. Straddling him, she pushed close to find him ready and waiting for her. Anticipating the urge of his hands against the hot skin of her thighs, she caught her breath when his strong fingers traveled higher, breaking the fragile lace that might have kept them from joining.

  “I’ll buy more,” Dench promised against her mouth. Like a woman closed too long from love, she pressed closer, straining to feel him grow, throbbing within her boundaries, and he knew she wasn’t listening anymore.

  Opening herself to him, Rissa wouldn’t have had a clue as to what language she screamed in, if she’d given it any thought. The trails of reddened skin that followed her neat nails across his chest and shoulders would concern her later but for now, for the time that counted, they marked her desperate need to hold him. Clenching tightly, she surrounded him and pulled him deeper, committing him to her heat.

  For Dench, the boil began where she sat and would have surged blindly had he not fought for control when she closed around him. Closing his eyes, he took hold of the passion she spilled and gripped her tightly, accepting the wet and the firmly curving reality of her.

  Letting her lead, taking the pressure of her body against his, Dench let the world spin as he filled her and pumped heat straight to her brain. Driving deep, the shock of sensation slicing through them, her rhythms paired and danced with his. Quivering, captured by the primal urges of mating, he took her mouth as fully as her body, and still she wanted more as the blood roared through his head, taking him with her.

  When the storm that twisted between them smoked to a finish, leaving them sated and panting, Rissa fell against his chest and let her breath come as best it could. Unwilling to break the shared moment, Dench held her, letting her heartbeat slow to find his. Beneath his hands, her cooling skin joined his and he closed his eyes, not wanting to know the difference. Still closed in her intimate embrace, he felt her lashes move against his shoulder. He felt her lips curve and tightened his hands on her when she stirred. Her hands moved higher, skimming his shoulders, locking behind his neck.

  When he spoke, his soft voice was husky and warm. “Do you know how much I love you?”

  “Tell me.”

  “I love you more than sand loves the sea.”

  “Ah, Dench.” She let her lips find his. “And I need you more than air.”

  Contorting slightly, Rissa demonstrated some of the flexibility that Dench admired and pulled her leg across him, leaving her sitting more comfortably in his lap. Leaning against his chest, she toyed with his fingers. “Wouldn’t it be nice if we just made a baby…” She sighed again and then seemed to realize what she’d said. “I mean…”

  “It’s okay.” Dench’s thumb traced her shoulder, then toyed with the strap of her lacey bra. “If we can’t talk about it, then…”

  “Then the therapy is useless.” She looked at him, then smoothed her hand over his head, her fingers lingering. “Our new beginning would be useless, too.”

  “Nothing about us is useless, baby. Nothing.” Feeling like a man about to push a really big rock out onto precariously thin ice, Dench held her close, resting his cheek against her hair, rubbing a soothing hand along her arm. I won’t let it be.

  “I saw the paper this morning,” he finally said.

  Rissa nodded. “Another fine mess, but I think it’s been contained—for now.”

  “I’ll see him when I get up to Flowery Branch. At least you’ll know where he is while he’s at camp, and I’ll keep his happy ass humping on the field the whole time. He’ll be too tired to get into any trouble.”

  Rissa sighed and nodded. “That’ll be good for him. Marcus always seems to find trouble when he has too much free time, but I’m going to miss you. I wish you didn’t have to go.”

  “I’ll call you. We’ll talk every day.”

  “Promises, promises. Text messages don’t do a lot for a woman left to her own devices.”

  He frowned and tried to look sad. “You have devices?”

  “You know what I mean.” She crossed her legs and managed to lean closer, intriguing him. “Can’t say I’m looking forward to living on text messages.”

  “Then I guess I’ll just have to work extra hard to keep them interesting, and get back here as soon as I can, won’t I?” His fingers turned her wrist enough to see the time on her wristwatch. He didn’t need to leave for an hour yet. “Baby, I’ll be less than an hour away if you need me, and back next Wednesday.”

  “Sure.” She made a face and stood carefully. “Come on, then. I guess I should at least try to act like a good wife and help you pack.” Walking into their bedroom, she held his hand between both of hers.

  His traveling bag was open at the foot of their bed and she sat down next to it, watching him. Damn it, she thought, smoothing her hands over her ruined skirt. Sex like we just had ought to produce a whole houseful of babies. When I was a kid, I remember my mother warning me that it only took one time to get pregnant. She crossed her arms under her breasts and frowned. It looks like I only got the one time and blew it.

  “Penny for your thoughts.”

  “Huh?”

  Dench stood in front of her holding his clothes. “I just offered you a penny for your thoughts, but I could pay more if I had to, what with inflation and all.”

  “You already owe me for a blouse and panties.”

  “That was money well spent.”

  She reached out and gave the belt of his robe a tug. “I think you need to go ahead and get in the shower before I find some other clothes for you to destroy.”

  “I have time—and extra cash.”

  “Go!” She laughed when he dropped the robe at her feet and strutted into the bathroom. “You think you’re funny,” she muttered to his naked back, picking up the robe.

  The sound of sudden water came from the bathroom when he started the shower and she found herself already missing him. Squeezing his jade green robe in her hands, she brought it to her nose and inhaled. Their combined scent, the musk of passion, touched something in her heart.

  Pheromones. They’ll do that to you. She inhaled again. Sex like we just had ought to produce a whole houseful of babies. The thought caught her off-guard this time and she lowered the robe to her lap.

  But when it doesn’t…Marlea has a
point…When it doesn’t, there are alternatives. Maybe the alternatives aren’t that bad…eggs, sperm, nine months…a perfect baby.

  Rising to drop the robe into the laundry basket, Rissa listened to the shower and smiled. He was in there singing an old Stevie Wonder song: “Knocks Me Off My Feet”. His voice, a strong and natural tenor, rose above the sound of the water, and he kept repeating the same line, professing love. He sang the song a lot and hummed it even more often, and she never grew tired of hearing it.

  As if his love could ever bore me…

  And suddenly, stubbornly, all of Marlea’s arguments all made sense. With in vitro, the egg would be mine and the sperm would be Dench’s, and the baby would be ours. I know I can trust her to carry it for us. Marlea is healthy and has carried two children, and another one for a friend, one for Dench and me to love would be no trial—she said so.

  Stepping from the shower, Dench was still singing the Stevie Wonder song. By the time he wrapped the towel around his waist and walked into the bedroom, he’d toned the song down to a happy hum. He was still humming when he felt Rissa’s eyes on him. He stopped and opened his arms to her. “Hoping for an encore? I’ve got time.”

  “What you’ve got is an insatiable libido.” She laughed when he frowned. “And I’m not complaining. I’m just sayin’ is all.”

  “As long as that’s all.” He started to dress.

  She watched him pull on jeans and wanted to slow him down.

  “Something on your mind?”

  Her hand flew to her lips. Did I say something? She shrugged, started to say no, and changed her mind. “I was just thinking…about us.” She came back to sit at the foot of their bed. “About how much we really want a baby.” He looked up and she hurried on: “People who don’t even want children get pregnant at the drop of a hat, but not us. Maybe it really is time to look at alternatives. Maybe we need to think about a surrogate.”