Heat of the Moment

by Lori Herter

  The lush curves he’d detected beneath her loose sweaters were all there all right. He felt her soft flesh shift beneath his hand and spring back again, firm and rounded beneath the edge of cloth that still covered her nipple. All this had happened in a second as he’d reached for her arm, but in that second, heated impulses raced through him, causing wild thoughts to barge into his brain, and an aching fullness to swell beneath his zipper. If he’d had any worries that his accident may have caused any damage to his masculinity, they were gone now!

  “Shh. Just calm down a minute.” He used a soft voice, partly to soothe her and partly because the revealed beauty of her body took his breath away. He tried to ignore his accelerating desire, his racing heartbeat. “You’re still not fully awake. If you leap up, you’re liable to crash into something else. I may not be able to break your fall a second time.”

  Josie nodded, looking dazed. “I’m sorry, Peter. It’s just that I couldn’t sleep….” Her voice faded as she looked him full in the face. She seemed to be overly aware now of exactly how close she was to him. She began to lean away, but he held her in place with gentle firmness. And then she glanced down at her chest and gasped. Her body stiffened in shock.

  “Sorry.” He let go of her, feeling it was the gentlemanly thing to do, expecting her to bolt.

  But she seemed too dumbfounded to take any action.

  Carefully, he took hold of the button and buttonhole, pulling them together. “I didn’t mean for that to happen.” Though he tried not to be provocative as he buttoned the pajama top, her cleavage was deep enough that he could feel the inner curves of her breasts beneath the thin cotton as he worked the material with his slightly shaking fingers.

  He glanced up at her face, because she sat so very still. Her eyes had taken on that look again of a doe caught in a vehicle’s beam of light. She seemed to be barely breathing. This time he could understand where she was coming from, because he was barely breathing, either. He finished with the button and let go.

  “How come you couldn’t sleep?” He kept his tone solicitous, hoping to distract her from the male-female awareness between them that seemed to have her mesmerized. He couldn’t help but wonder, was she aroused the way he was? Did she find him attractive? Was that why she reacted this way whenever he touched her?

  Josie’s eyes widened at what he’d thought was an innocent question. “I don’t know,” she mumbled, looking down at the button he’d fastened. “Not being in my own home and bed, I suppose.”

  Peter saw that she’d become fully awake and aware now. Her eyes were regaining their usual alertness. He had the feeling her mind was racing, gearing up to meet his at every possible turn of their conversation.

  He took hold of her hands in her lap so that his own hands rested on her slim thighs that were barely covered by the pajama top. He could glimpse her white panties beneath. “Was the bed comfortable?”

  “Sure. It was fine.” She looked down at her hands in his, then away, toward her clothes in the other room. “I should get dressed.”

  When he made no move to let her go, she looked at his face again, her brown eyes searching and confused. Her gaze dropped to his mouth. He’d noticed her looking at his mouth before, and had wondered why. But he was beginning to be rather sure that it was because she found him attractive.

  “You know, you’re beautiful in the morning.” He smiled at her and squeezed her hands, testing the waters, seeing where an overture might lead.

  She lowered her eyes shyly. “No… I must look a mess….”

  “You look natural. Beautifully mussed hair, eyes all sleepy and adorable. And from what little I could see, you have ‘the makings of a fairy,’ as my great-grandfather used to say.”

  Her eyes widened like saucers and she looked him full in the face. “What does that mean?”

  “That you must have one of the sweetest bodies on the planet. You’re a fairy creature, too beautiful for us mortal men.”

  She looked as if she couldn’t believe what she was hearing. “You shouldn’t say…” Her voice was so hushed, it was as if she had run out of breath.

  He leaned forward, bringing his face closer to hers. “Why not?” His heart was beginning to pound. Would she let him kiss her?

  “I—I work for you.”

  “My company has no rules against romances between co-workers.” He inched closer, beginning to aim his mouth toward hers. “We’re here. We’re alive. I think maybe we’re attracted to each other. There’s more to life than work.”

  His lips moved to within a few inches of hers. From her widening pupils, he grew sure she was willing. But suddenly she leaned backward and avoided him.

  To make a graceful finish of his thwarted pass, he brushed the tip of his nose against hers, then leaned back in his chair.

  Looking troubled, she pulled her fingers out of his grasp and placed her hand against his shoulder, to push away from him. The light, sweet feel of feminine pressure through his shirt made him lose coherent thought for a moment. Without thinking, he placed his hands around her rib cage, keeping her there as he closed his eyes in a sensual wince. When he opened them, he found himself gazing into her lustrous eyes again, their expression an innocent mystery. Beneath the palms of his hands, he could feel the thudding of her heart.

  Peter was dying to pull her against him and kiss the daylights out of her. But if he did, he feared he might never see her again. Even though he suspected she found him attractive, something was inhibiting her and he didn’t think it was that she was his employee. It was some other reason and it lay very deep. What was it? He didn’t usually have a problem getting a woman to merely kiss him. Josie was definitely different. How he’d love to coax her out of her solitary existence and make her bloom, just for him.

  “I need to get dressed,” she insisted, increasing the pressure of her hand on his shoulder.

  “Of course,” he said lightly, releasing his hold on her. “Careful.” As she twisted and slid off his lap, Peter instantly felt bereft of her feminine warmth, the delicious weight of her body on his.

  As he watched her quickly walk toward the bed where her clothes were, he began to have an idea of how difficult it was going to be to work with her. How could he get within ten feet of her, even be in the same room with her, and not want to have her next to him, in his arms, her soft breasts within his grasp, her thighs against that part of him that demanded satiation?

  He forced himself to play the gentleman. “Would you like me to leave while you change?”

  “I’ll change in the bathroom.”

  “Right. What about breakfast?”

  She paused, holding her sweater close. “I’m not hungry.”

  “It’s not healthy to skip breakfast, Josie.”

  “Have you eaten?”

  “Yes.”

  “I don’t want to put you to the trouble. Look, I need to go home and get a change of clothes. I’ll grab something there.”

  “All right, if that suits you. I’ll start work on my own.”

  “Okay.” She disappeared into the bathroom.

  Peter began to worry then that maybe running home to change was just an excuse. Maybe she’d been thoroughly unnerved from being pulled onto his lap. Maybe she was planning to leave and never return. The close proximity of their bodies and his attempt to kiss her may have convinced her she should be wary of him. The day he’d met her she’d declared that she wasn’t afraid of him. But he sensed she secretly was.

  Another snippet from the old Irish song popped into his mind. Something about two people and—one had a sorrow that never was said.

  “A sorrow that never was said,” he murmured. The phrase seemed to apply to Josie. He’d sensed from the beginning that she suffered from some private anxiety. What was her secret sorrow?

  When she came out, dressed in her clothes from the day before, she gave him his pajamas, dropping them onto his lap. Without thinking, he found himself reaching for her hand.

  “Think you’ll be bac
k in an hour or so?”

  Josie stared down at him, and her eyes had a certain brightness. A new resolve, perhaps. It made him fear her resolve was to leave this place for good.

  “I may need a little more time than that,” she said, looking shy and nervous now. She glanced down at his hand enfolding hers.

  Instinctively, he brought her hand to his mouth and pressed his lips against her knuckles. When he looked up at her, her lips had parted and her eyes were shining, full of energy. Like yesterday when the earthquake hit.

  Peter couldn’t take the chance of letting her go without knowing, having some inkling of what was in her mind. “You will come back, won’t you, Josie? I’ve sensed that you’re not entirely at ease sometimes. I hope this little incident of falling into my lap hasn’t upset you. I may have made a lame attempt to kiss you, but remember, in this damn wheelchair, I’m not much danger to women.” Yes, he was lying to her. His heart was racing, and he didn’t care about the lie. He had an overriding purpose.

  Josie hovered, her eyes full of doubt, as she stared at him a long three seconds while Peter held his breath. And then she astonished him by placing her free hand over his, so that she was holding his hand in both of hers. “I’ll be back in a couple of hours,” she told him, a grave honesty in her tone and manner. “I promise.”

  Peter grinned as she gave his hand a squeeze. Then she let go and walked out the door. It had been a tense moment, but he believed that she would indeed be back.

  Picking up the pajamas she’d dropped in his lap as if they were alive, he brought the top to his face and he could smell her scent on them. He almost never wore pajamas. Slept in the buff. But his mother had given him these years ago at Christmas, and he kept them on hand in case he came down with the flu. Pajamas came in handy when he had chills from a fever. But now he wondered if wearing what Josie had worn would keep him warm in bed tonight, be some small comfort. He’d had trouble getting to sleep last night, too.

  Peter heard Josie’s car engine start up. He threw the blanket off his knees and got up. He began pacing, feeling cooped up from the confines of the chair. Thinking over the way she’d taken his hand in hers, he sensed that she felt a little sorry for him, for the injured man who couldn’t walk. That was the nurturer in her reappearing. She wanted to make him feel better about himself, to take care of him.

  But Josie had no idea that beneath the blanket he used to play the role of invalid, the most vital part of him was alive, well and kicking. How to gradually reveal that to her, kindle the buried sensuality he’d glimpsed in her, and hopefully draw her to his fully male self, was going to be damned tricky.

  Yet what a challenge—like awakening Sleeping Beauty. What would a real kiss be like? How, when and where would he make it happen?

  He paused in his pacing, listening to his own galvanizing thoughts. Peter realized he’d become besotted with Josie, could barely concentrate on anything but her. How had he become obsessed with a woman so fast? Hadn’t he learned anything from his past mistake, his ruined marriage? He’d misjudged Cory, and he might be misjudging Josie, too. Josie was a mystery woman, exactly the type that always fascinated Peter. But he needed to go slow, be careful, keep his emotions in check. If he continued to blindly pursue her, he might get his heart broken all over again.

  The haunting Irish tune wound its way into his thoughts again. Why did that old song keep popping into his head? He needed to find out what the rest of the words were. It occurred to him that his sister, Eileen, who was four years older than he, might remember the song. He went to the phone and dialed her number.

  “Eileen?”

  “Hi, Peter. How are things?”

  “Everything’s great. Listen, you know those old songs Great-Grandpa Patrick used to sing when we were kids? Do you remember the one that had the words, ‘And fondly I watched her move here and move there’?”

  “You called me to ask about the words to an old song?” She sounded mystified.

  “Why, are you busy?”

  “Just making cookies with the kids. It’s Presidents’ Day and they’re home from school. Since when are you interested in the old Irish songs? Mom would be thrilled!”

  “I suppose she would be,” he said ruefully. Their mother, Kathleen O’Riley Brennan, was always trying to get her children and grandchildren to take an interest in their Irish heritage. “So, do you remember the song?”

  “It sounds familiar. What’s the tune?”

  Peter half hummed, half sang as much as he could recall.

  “I think I know which one you mean,” Eileen said.

  “Great! What was the name of it?”

  She started laughing. Eileen was known for her hearty laugh. Peter could picture her shoulders shaking beneath her long red hair. “What am I, a song expert? The way I remember it, Great-Grandpa just sang them one after another and didn’t usually say what the name of each song was. ‘Macushla’ began, ‘Macushla, Macushla…’ So it was easy to know the title to that one. But I don’t know the others.”

  “Okay…” Peter couldn’t hide his disappointment. “I was hoping if we could remember the name, I could look it up. There are probably Internet sites where you can do that, but I’d need the song title.”

  “Or the first line of the song. I think you can look it up that way, too.”

  Peter exhaled. “I don’t know the first line, either. Do you remember?”

  Both were silent for a long moment, thinking. Eileen began humming the haunting tune.

  “No, Peter, I don’t. Do you recall any of the other words?”

  “Yes. ‘And then she turned homeward with one star awake, like the swan in the evening moves over the lake.’ And some other line about ‘a sorrow that never was said.’”

  “Hmm. Isn’t that the song that went…um…‘she stepped away from me, and this she did say’…something, something?”

  “That’s it! What’s the rest?”

  Eileen laughed again. “Look, I’m lucky I remembered even that! Great-Grandpa Brennan died, what, twenty-three years ago? I haven’t heard that song since. Why do you need to remember the words?”

  “Because something made those few lyrics pop into my mind, and now I can’t get them out of my mind. Something’s bubbling up from my unconscious, and I’m trying to figure out what it is.”

  “Your unconscious?” Eileen sounded amused as she had years ago, when she was in high school and making fun of her kid brother’s homemade crystal radio. “Always the scientist, even analyzing your own brain. What made you recall the song?”

  Peter ignored her teasing, knowing a new issue was about to perk her interest as he chose to truthfully answer her question. “The new woman I just hired to work for me.”

  “A new woman in your life!” True to form, Eileen’s voice got higher. She was brimming with curiosity. “Well, now, that’s interesting. What’s her name?”

  “Josie Gray. She’s not Irish. I asked.”

  “Must have been something else about her,” Eileen quipped knowingly. “Is she pretty?”

  Peter smiled at his sister’s predictable question. His whole family had long been eager for him to find a new wife. “She’s beautiful.”

  “Aha! I hope she’s single.”

  “Single, but she’s not interested in marriage, so—”

  Eileen suddenly gasped. “You know what? I just had a memory flash! That song was the one Great-Grandpa Patrick always sang to Great-Grandma Maureen. It was their song, remember?”

  “It was?” Peter apparently had lost track of that bit of family history.

  “But there was one verse he never would sing. He was superstitious and thought it was bad luck.”

  “Superstitious…” This jogged Peter’s memory. “Remember Maureen’s funeral? Didn’t one of Patrick’s old tenor friends sing that song? I remember there were words I’d never heard before…and they were kind of spooky.”

  His sister gasped. “Oh, my God, Peter, you’re right! I haven’t thought of that
in all these years. Great-Grandpa Patrick asked his best friend to sing that song at her funeral, after the mass. But that time he actually wanted that last verse sung, the one he’d never sing himself. I can’t recall why, or what that was all about. Remember, though, at the church, when his friend finished singing? There was such a hush. No one breathed. You could hear a pin drop! I remember that now, as if it had happened yesterday.”

  They were both silent, reminiscing, when on Eileen’s end there came a crash that sounded like metal against tile.

  “Peter, I have to go. The kids just dumped my sifted flour all over the floor.”

  He chuckled. “Sure. Thanks for your help. Give Cindy and Johnny a kiss for me. And phone if you recall any more of the lyrics, okay?”

  “You bet! Too bad Mom and Dad are on that cruise. They’d probably remember the song and the whole funeral story.”

  A spooky verse sung only at Maureen’s funeral, Peter thought as he sat down on a lab stool after hanging up. He’d just turned eleven and it had been his first funeral. The family still lived in Boston. Peter mentally relived that hushed moment once more. All his beloved great-grandmother’s relatives and friends had gathered in the church to pay their respects. When the mass was over, the tenor stood before the mourners and sang the song very slowly, without a piano or any accompaniment. Peter even remembered the goose bumps that had risen along his shoulders, the hair on the back of his neck that had stood on end as the tenor’s last notes echoed through the old church.

  An ominous feeling crept over him. He almost felt goose bumps just recalling the moment. Why did he suddenly have this feeling of foreboding? It was a vivid childhood memory, but why was it affecting him so strongly now?

  He began to pace the aisle between lab tables. It was their song, old Patrick’s and Maureen’s. They’d had a long marriage, over sixty years together. After his wife had suddenly died, Patrick had passed on himself less than a month later, as if too bereft and lonely to go on without her.