In the light of the single lamp, she was perfect. If her breasts had been twice as large or twice as small, she would still have been perfect. If her belly had been flatter or more rounded, she would still have been beautiful in his eyes.
A voice somewhere on the edges of his consciousness whispered that he was cruising in uncharted waters. He tuned it out.
“One of us is just a tad overdressed,” she said, a thread of laughter in her voice.
It struck him—that hint of laughter—as the ultimate weapon. It was warm and sexual, inviting him to share far more than he was ready to share. Kurt wasn’t used to women who could turn him on with laughter. It made him nervous. Wary. At the same time, it made him want far more than just her body.
He reached over and turned off the light before he removed his clothes. She protested softly that it wasn’t fair, and he pretended not to hear her. Sooner or later, if all went as planned, she would have to see his scars. They weren’t pretty, which was why he took pains to keep them covered. He told himself it was no different from seeing a woman without her makeup, or with her hair in rollers, or with blue mud plastered all over her face, but he’d just as soon she didn’t see them. Not yet, anyway.
With one hand, he managed to get Debranne more or less under the covers, so that at least he could protect her from taking cold. Sliding in beside her, he felt a small hot hand on his chest, fingertips brushing over his nipples, causing them to harden instantly. He winced as the pressure in his loins increased and wondered how he was going to get through the night without disgracing himself.
With one last burst of sanity, he said, “I don’t suppose…that is, some women take the pill for—Debranne, honey, I don’t have anything t-t-to protect you, s-s-so—”
Oh, hell. He hadn’t stuttered in nearly thirty years!
Her hands were all over him. He could feel the heat of her body reaching out to him. In desperation, he gathered her underneath him, unconsciously sparing her his full weight. It wasn’t going to be easy, but after coming this far he was determined to make it good for her, if he had to stand under a cold shower for the rest of the night.
“You don’t?” Her hands grew still. She sounded as if he’d just told her there was no Santa Claus.
“There’s lots of ways—let me show you how—”
“But I want you, Kurt. I don’t want ways. And I’d never hold you responsible—I mean, couldn’t you just—”
He knew what she was getting at, but there was no way he could put himself inside her and not finish what he’d started. He had as much self-control as any man, but there were some sacrifices no woman should ask of a man.
Especially not a woman like Deke. Not of a man who had started visualizing her in his bed the first time he’d got a good whiff of her perfume, when she’d still been a grieving widow. Maybe even before that, when he’d watched her mincing down the pier in her flowered dress and her high-heeled shoes, with her hair pinned up on top of her head like she was on her way to the Queen’s tea party.
She wriggled against him. One hand fluttered down his chest, over his abdomen, and he groaned. “Sweetheart, don’t make this any harder than it has to be,” he rasped.
Her eyes held all the innocence of Eve as she said, “I don’t think I can make it any harder than it already is.”
That tore it. Flat out tore it. Kurt rolled her over onto her back and slung one thigh—his good one—over her hips. “All ashore that’s going ashore,” he warned, and she laughed softly, caught a shivery little breath between her teeth and met him halfway.
And then he entered her. He tried to make it last, but there was no chance. It was give and take, surrender and victory all rolled into one. It might have taken billions of years to create the universe, but for Kurt, it all ended in one single fiery moment of glory. He heard a shout and recognized it for his own voice, and was dimly surprised. He had never done that before. Shouted. Never allowed himself to lose control to that extent.
But then, he had never before known a woman like this one. For someone who admitted to being shy, she was gloriously, passionately uninhibited. He held her to him, their bodies damp and panting, and he wondered, half-amused, if it had anything to do with that course she had taken in self-assertiveness.
Because, God, had she evermore asserted herself!
He wanted more—suspected he might never get enough of her, but at the moment he wasn’t up to it. His headache was gone, but the cramp in his leg was starting up again. It had had a real workout.
Next time, he might explore a few possibilities the missionaries had never even thought of.
“Deke?” he whispered. “Are you asleep?”
His only answer was a soft, satisfied purr. Feeling more relaxed than he could remember feeling in many a year, he turned her onto her side and gathered her up in the cradle of his body, where she slept till morning, her head on his shoulder, her bottom shoved snugly against his weary manhood and her small feet warm against his hairy shins.
Things had gotten out of order. He was an orderly person, never comfortable when things didn’t go according to plan. They were going to have to talk, he told himself, and the sooner the better.
With what was left of his mental energy, he set out to compose a proposal, complete with addenda and disclaimers.
He never even got to the first disclaimer, the one about love not being a part of the bargain, before he was snoring softly. Sometime before dawn he woke up again. In her sleep, Deke had rolled over onto her side, and one of her knees had wedged itself between his thighs.
What happened next was as inevitable as the sunrise. Slowly, wordlessly, they made love all over again. If he lived to be a hundred years old, Kurt knew he would never forget the way she looked, her eyes soft and unfocused, her lips swollen from his kisses.
Seven
“Deke, I’ve got a proposition for you,” Kurt muttered at the face in the mirror.
No, dammit, not a proposition, a proposal! the image retorted.
“Business proposition? Marriage proposal? Both?”
Whatever.
“Okay, here goes. Now it seems to me, Deke, that what you need—or rather, what I want is—”
What she needs—what you want—sort out your priorities, man!
Kurt scowled, one side of his face covered with lather as he tried to compose a brief, carefully worded proposal of marriage that could not possibly be construed as a declaration of love. He had examined his feelings and decided that genuine liking mixed with a hefty dose of lust was not too bad a basis for marriage. Especially considering the fact that so many marriages based on undying love ended up on the rocks.
Right. So he would start by pointing out that fact, and then he would say, “So you see, we’re not talking romance here. You don’t have to worry about that. All I’m looking for is a simple, straightforward, mutually beneficial arrangement.”
Sure he was. His roof over her head, her body in his bed, and both their names on a marriage certificate. No big-deal romance. Just a piece of paper to keep the wolves away from the door.
He cleared his throat for a final rehearsal. “See, the thing is, I’ve got this little problem you might be able to help me with. There’s this—”
“Did you say something?” Deke called through the bathroom door.
“Just clearing my throat!” Impatiently, Kurt reached over and turned on the shower again. “Where was I?” he muttered to the mirror. “Oh, yeah. The little problem. Y’see, the thing is, there’s this nosy social worker who has a hang-up about placing kids with what she calls unsuitable parties, and lately, she’s been giving me some grief. It just occurred to me that if I had a wife, I might stand a better chance of keeping Frog with me. I haven’t had a lot of practice being a father, but I do know the kid would never make it in a regular foster home. He’d stick around about as long as it took him to stuff his pockets with food and any loose change lying around—although I think he’s cured of that. Loose change, I mean.”
Kurt shook his head. This wasn’t going to work. All this talk about social workers was no way to court a lady.
On the other hand, he wasn’t trying to court a lady. It wasn’t her heart he was after, it was her signature on a marriage licence.
The sympathy card, man. Play the sympathy card!
He tried to look sober and responsible and less like a man who was having trouble keeping his mind focused on the main issue. “A boy like Frog…” A boy like Francis Junior Smith?
Nah…the kid had enough on him without spilling all his secrets. “You see, it’s important for a boy like Frog to know you’re going to be there for him even when he pulls some crazy stunt that makes you want to throw in the towel. I generally chew him out, but I make sure he knows I’m doing it because he’s important to me, and I’m damn well not going to see him wasted. Mostly he’s just testing to see how far he can go before I jerk him back in line, so I cut him some slack. I mean, a boy has to learn some way, but it’s a dangerous world when you’re walking that tightrope between man and boy. As tough as he is, in a lot of ways he’s just a scared, lonesome kid, needy as hell and determined not to let it show.”
The shower droned on. The mirror steamed up. Kurt swore and cleared a patch with his forearm. “Jeeze,” he muttered. “How could any woman in her right mind refuse a proposal like that? Why not just cut to the chase, Stryker? Hey, Deke—for a nice woman, you really turn me on, so how about marrying me and my kid?”
Drawing the razor slowly down his left cheek, he tried to think of something he could say to persuade her. Otherwise, there was a good chance that a relationship it had taken him two years to build was going down the drain, and a new one that was coming to look more and more promising would be grounded before it ever took off.
But he had to level with her. No point in raising any false expectations. Then, no matter what she decided, neither one of them would be flying blind. None of this crying-in-his-beer-over-a-busted-heart business. He’d been there, done that.
And so, he suspected, had she.
After rinsing his razor, he put it away, stroked his cheeks appraisingly and reached for his eye patch. “Face it, man. You’re not much of a bargain for any woman.”
Aside from the age difference, he was a one-eyed gimp who might or might not still own a working boat. Who had plans to buy a house that might or might not still be standing. Who was hoping to be given custody, either formally or informally, for a fourteen-year-old kid with a foul mouth, an attitude problem, and holes the size of the Grand Canyon in his education.
The kid had liked her. She had liked him, too. Kurt had noticed that right off, because most women didn’t. Frog was too old to be considered cute and too young to be considered interesting.
“Kurt, are you hibernating in there?” she called through the door. “Will there be any hot water left?”
Oh, boy. Running a comb through his damp hair, he checked his appearance in the steamy mirror one last time, then opened the bathroom door. “Sorry about that, but look, if you’ve got a minute, there’s something I’d like to run by you.”
She glanced up, her expression a startled mixture of guilt, embarrassment and apprehension. “Now, Kurt—if it’s about last night, you don’t have to say a word. I know—”
The shrill buzz of the telephone startled them both. Deke, who’d been folding the T-shirt she’d slept in, snatched up the instrument as if it were a life preserver. “It’s Frog,” she said after several seconds had passed. “He wants to know what I’m doing in your room.”
By the time Kurt got on the line and had assured the boy that yes, they were both all right, and no, he hadn’t heard anything yet about the R&R, and yes, they were damned well behaving themselves, and it was none of his business, anyway, Deke was standing beside the bathroom door, her feet bare, her face red, her fingers twisting.
“Did you have to say that? About behaving? He’s probably guessed everything that—Kurt, is he all right?” She forgot her embarrassment in the face of his worried expression.
“Yeah, he’s fine. They’re leaving as soon as they round up all the strays.” What made her think he wasn’t telling her everything?
“Then it’s all right to go back? Has anyone called to check on conditions?”
“Coach checked in with the Highway Patrol a couple of hours ago. Word is, things are pretty much under control, but power’s still out over half the county. There’s been some damage, but things aren’t as bad as they could’ve been.”
She told herself it was no wonder he looked worried. For all either of them knew, he could have lost everything he owned. Some damage could mean that some houses were flooded, some weren’t. Some roofs were blown off, some weren’t. Some boats were sunk, some weren’t. Which wasn’t particularly reassuring.
Deke tried to think of something comforting to say, but she was still feeling raw and exposed after jumping into bed with a man she hardly knew and making mad, passionate love. It was nothing dozens of her friends didn’t do on a more or less regular basis, but she never had. Other than Mark, she had never had the courage. Never found a man who tempted her enough.
Until now.
Mumbling something about keeping fingers crossed, she snatched up a change of clothes and disappeared into the bathroom to shower.
Kurt paced, his deck shoes silent on the thick carpet. He rubbed the back of his neck, which had a crick in it from sleeping on a strange pillow. He rubbed the tense muscles of his left thigh, which were still protesting yesterday’s hard work followed by the long drive. Followed by last night’s calisthenics.
He made up his mind to put it to her on the way home. There would be plenty of time on the drive to Swan Inlet to explain the situation, sound her out about her own prospects and then lay his proposition before her. After all, part-time jobs could be found almost anywhere if someone really wanted to work. And a writer could write anywhere, couldn’t she?
And besides, he was able to support a wife and kid. Not on any lavish scale with French champagne and a houseful of servants, but he could give her anything she needed within reason, including health care. That ought to count for something.
Yeah, right. Deke, darling, will you marry me and share my lust and be a mother to my semidelinquent kid in exchange for a roof, regular meals and whatever health insurance a veteran’s spouse is entitled to?
Deke’s hair was wet when she emerged from the bathroom. The motel’s amenities didn’t run to a hair dryer. She felt small and unattractive and embarrassed, and irritated because she felt all those things.
Kurt mentioned the need to buy gas on the way out, and she thought, oh, no—there goes another week’s rent. And then she remembered that he’d insisted on paying all expenses, and that was even worse. A woman had her pride, after all.
“Are you hungry?”
She was famished, but she lacked the courage to admit it, knowing he was probably anxious to get home and survey the damage.
On the other hand, none of this wild expedition had been her idea. In fact, she didn’t even know how she had come to be here. Right now she should be home in her own apartment, either looking over the classifieds for another place to live or curled up in her bed with her laptop struggling to make a three-page proposal sound like a potential best-seller.
“You want to know the truth? I’m starved!” she declared belligerently, daring him to make something of it.
He grinned that slow, crinkly grin that she found all but irresistible. “Yeah, me, too. Let’s go find us a place that serves grits, hash browns, biscuits—the works, all right?”
How could a woman stay angry with a man who offered her both grits and hash browns?
* * *
It was just past noon when they reached Swan Inlet. Shortly after they’d left the restaurant and headed east, Kurt had started to say something, but Deke had rushed to distract him. She wasn’t ready yet to talk about what had happened. What was the point in raking over yesterday’s ashes
? They had done it. There was no undoing it. She certainly didn’t expect an apology, because it was as much her fault as his. What’s more, she had enjoyed it every bit as much as he had. Not only the first time, which had been little short of cataclysmic because a woman who had once known sex did develop certain needs—but the other time, too.
The second time had been slow and sweet, almost dreamlike. They hadn’t talked. Afterward, she had curled up in his arms and cried a little, for no real reason except that she hadn’t cried in a long time, either.
Nor had they talked since. No more than “Did you lock the door?” “Did you get the key?” “Do you want more coffee?” and “Do you want to go to the bathroom before we hit the road?”
After that, whenever Kurt had tried to open a conversation, Deke had pretended to be asleep. Then, fifty miles or so back, they had started seeing storm damage, so they’d talked about that. Nothing major except where a small, storm-spawned tornado had touched down. Aside from the snapped-off trees and a section of rusty metal roofing twisted halfway around the top of a tall pine, it was mostly flooded fields and flattened crops.
Looking grim and preoccupied, Kurt drove directly to the marina. Neither of them had spoken a word for the last dozen miles. Tension had grown until all it would take was a single spark to set it off, and Deke wasn’t about to supply that spark. It had dawned on her sometime during the drive that she might have fallen in love with him.
Oh, Lord, what if she had? What if she’d gone and done it again—fallen in love on the basis of one night of mind-boggling sex? Was that any better than falling in love with a man simply because she was flattered that he’d even noticed her?
No wonder she was having trouble with her third book. Her brains had turned to boiled eggs. Softboiled eggs! “I’d better start thinking about heading on home,” she said tentatively.
Ignoring her, Kurt climbed stiffly out of the car and stepped up onto the wharf. Several of the boards were out of alignment, a few missing. Down at one end, a whole section had floated up and washed halfway across the parking lot.
Stryker's Wife (Man of the Month) Page 9