“That’s my job this evening,” he said, looking up at her. “Remember?”
What she remembered, Emily thought, unable to tear her gaze from Mark’s, was the feel of this strong but gentle hand holding hers. What she remembered was the heat of desire pulsing low in her body that she hadn’t experienced in many years. What she remembered was Mark when she had loved him so much it defied description in mere words.
“Guests,” Emily said, then drew a needed breath as Mark continued to grasp her hand, “don’t do kitchen chores in this house.”
“I don’t feel like a guest. This was a family dinner, and I took part in it. I haven’t experienced anything like this since I lived with your grandparents after my father died. This evening was nice, very nice. I had a great time and you sure are a good cook. Thank you for…everything.”
“You’re welcome. You obviously got along famously with Trevor.”
“It’s a start. You’ve done a fantastic job of raising him, Emily. That is one terrific kid.” Mark smiled. “One terrific growing boy who has an appetite like…”
“His father,” Emily said. She left the dishes on the table, then tugged gently on her hand, which Mark didn’t release.
Mark got to his feet, finally let go of Emily’s hand and placed both of his on her shoulders, keeping a small distance between them.
“It really hit me tonight that I’ve missed out on so much of Trevor’s life. I wish I had been here to see his first smile, first tooth, see him take his first wobbly steps, hear his first babbling baby words…
“Ah, hell, Emily, what happened? To us? To you and the way you felt about me? We had so much together, and… I just don’t understand. I’ve never understood how you could just stop loving me the way you did back then. Talk to me.”
Emily shook her head. “There’s no purpose to be served by rehashing all this, Mark. I was young, so immature, and when you left I just realized that…. No, I’m not going to do this. My family urged me to tell you that I was pregnant but…”
“Why didn’t you?” he said, tightening his hands on her shoulders. “I would have come right back to Ventura. You wouldn’t have had to go through all this alone. I would have wanted to be here with you, with our son.”
And you would have given up all your dreams for a future in medicine, Emily thought. He’d have settled for some dead-end job to keep a roof over their heads and eventually…oh, yes, guaranteed…he would have hated her for destroying everything he had ever wanted, had worked so hard for. She’d loved him far too much to do that to him, and she would have died a little inside as she saw his love for her turn into resentment, then chilling hate.
“It would never have worked out,” she said, staring at the center of his chest. “A baby isn’t enough to sustain a marriage when one of the couple, one of the parents isn’t…isn’t in…love with the other. Mark, don’t do this. Please.”
“Look at me, Emily.”
She slowly raised her head to meet Mark’s gaze.
“The day I left for Boston you cried as though your heart was breaking because we were going to be separated. You told me over and over how much you loved me, would miss me, that you’d wait for me no matter how long it took until I could send for you.”
“Don’t,” Emily whispered, feeling threatening tears stinging her eyes.
“I remember,” Mark went on, “that when I kissed you for the last time your lips tasted salty from your tears, and it just ripped me up. For days, weeks, even months, I couldn’t erase the memory of that taste, the tears I had caused you to cry.
“Even after I got your letter I still could taste those salty tears on your lips.” He lowered his head slowly toward Emily’s. “Do you remember that kiss, Emily? Do you?”
“Yes, I do, but…” Emily started, then stopped speaking as two tears slid down her cheeks, followed by two more.
“A kiss that tasted like salty tears,” Mark said, his voice gritty with emotion. “Just…like…this one.”
Mark’s mouth captured Emily’s, his tongue delving between her tear-moistened lips to seek and find her tongue. He pulled her close to his body, and her arms floated upward to encircle his neck as her lashes drifted down. He deepened the kiss even more, and Emily responded in total abandon, savoring every heated sensation that rushed throughout her like a raging river.
Just as when they’d first seen each other the day before in Margaret and Robert MacAllister’s living room, Emily and Mark were flung back in time.
They were so young and so very much in love.
No one mattered, even existed, but the two of them.
They even talked, in lazy voices after making love, about sitting on a swing on their front porch and waving goodbye to their children and grandchildren after they’d come to visit.
They envisioned so many glorious scenarios of their life together, unfolding it reverently, like a map that revealed treasures to cherish for all time.
Mark broke the kiss to raise his head a fraction of an inch to draw a sharp breath, but before he could claim Emily’s lips again, she landed back in reality with a jarring thud.
“No, Mark,” she said, splaying her hands flat on his chest. “No.”
Mark released his hold on her and she took a step backward, wrapping her hands around her elbows as she shook her head.
“You…we…shouldn’t have done that,” she said, then took a much-needed breath as she willed her heated body back under her control.
“Why not?” Mark said, frowning. “We just learned something, didn’t we, Emily? We still want, desire, each other as much as we ever did. What do you think that means?”
“Nothing,” she said, nearly yelling. “Nothing at all. Why? Because that kiss didn’t take place in the here and now, Mark. That kiss took us back in time to when we were so young, so naive, so certain that everything we planned, fantasized and dreamed about was going to come true. We were immature children, not the adults we are now, standing here in this kitchen.”
“The adults standing in this kitchen,” he said, matching her volume, “shared that kiss, gave as much as we received. The desire burning in me isn’t from fourteen years ago, Emily MacAllister. It’s here, right now, and I dare you to deny that you don’t desire me, too.”
“The word desire belongs to our past, Mark Maxwell. Whatever sexual reaction our bodies had a few minutes ago was lust. Tacky lust, with no loving emotions involved.”
“Do you really believe that?” he said so quietly that Emily could hardly hear him.
Yes. No. She didn’t know, Emily thought frantically. She couldn’t think straight. She was on fire with the want, the need, of Mark and… No, no, no, not this Mark.
“Emily?”
“Yes, I believe it. The past has to be kept separate and apart from the present. I truly did love you when I was that starry-eyed child, Mark. Please don’t ever doubt that. I loved you as much as any girl stepping into the world of womanhood is capable of loving.
“But it wasn’t deep enough, rich enough to last, because I was too young to understand the complexities of it all. I refuse to feel guilty for that, because we were both at fault, tried to have too much too soon.”
She was piling lies upon lies, Emily thought miserably. She was diminishing what she had felt for Mark back then, and she hated what she was doing. But she had no choice.
There was no purpose to be served in telling Mark that she’d kept her pregnancy a secret from him so that he could achieve his dreams, his goals. No purpose whatsoever.
And so she had to lie and lie and lie, and the weight of those lies was crushing her.
“For heaven’s sake, Mark,” Emily said, throwing out her hands, “if you’re still having a problem keeping the past separate from the present, then just stop and take a good look at me. What do you see? The slim, trim, size-six Emily whose waist was so tiny you could encircle it with your hands?
“Oh, ha. Reality check, Mark. I’m a very, very pudgy thirty-one-year-old woman,
who gains weight by even smelling, or looking at something fattening. I have a twelve-year-old son, an ancient car that’s held together with a hope and a prayer, a mortgage payment on this little house and a business that is growing steadily but is a long way from making me free of financial worries. Focus on those facts, not on what used to be.”
“That’s quite a list,” he said, folding his arms over his chest.
“You bet it is.”
“Except you left something out.”
“Such as?”
“Feelings, emotions. Who is Emily MacAllister now? What makes you smile, laugh right out loud, or cry those salty tears of yours? What dreams do you have that replaced the ones you shared with me?”
“What difference does it make?” Emily asked, shaking her head.
“I don’t know,” Mark said, sounding suddenly weary. “You don’t seem to be having any trouble keeping the past separate from the present, but it’s not that easy for me, Emily. Maybe that’s because I’ve been away and now that I’m back I’m slam-dunked with memories at every turn.
“Plus there’s Trevor. Do you have any idea what it’s like to discover you have a son you didn’t even know existed? He’s walking, talking, breathing evidence of what you and I had together back when.
“Emily, I came here to get final closure on us.”
“Final…final closure?” Emily said, shock evident in her voice. “You’ve…hated me all these years?”
No, Mark thought, he’d loved her all these years. But now Mark narrowed his eyes because he knew she’d robbed him of Trevor’s first smile, his wobbly steps, each tiny new tooth. He hadn’t held Trevor’s little hand to reassure him that everything would be fine as he took his son to school on that terrifying first day of kindergarten.
He hadn’t taught him to throw a ball, or ride a bike, or how to tie his shoes.
He hadn’t tucked him into bed at night, read him a story and heard his prayers.
He’d shared none of those things with his son because Emily had told Trevor that his father was dead.
And the pain of that truth was beginning to grow much bigger than that caused by her letter.
Anger was building within him, as well, Mark thought, steadily growing into white-hot fury and pushing aside the desire he’d felt for Emily when he’d kissed her. Getting his heart back from Emily MacAllister just might not be that difficult after all. She had made decisions she’d had no right to make. Played God. Set up her life the way she wanted it with no regard for his feelings, his right to know about the existence of his son.
His son. Who was going to be told that he, Mark Maxwell, was his father.
“You’ve called the shots for a dozen years, Emily,” Mark said, “but now it’s my turn. Yes, I agreed that it would be best for Trevor and me to establish a rapport before he’s told the truth of who I am. But when I decide the time is right, I intend to sit him down and tell him who I am. When I decide the time is right.”
“But…”
“And hear this, Emily,” Mark went on. “I’ll also inform my son that I didn’t stay away because I didn’t want anything to do with him. I’m going to tell Trevor that I didn’t know he even existed until he walked into your grandmother’s house yesterday. You’ll have to deal with whatever ramifications there are when Trevor learns the truth. Lies have a way of catching up with people, Emily.”
“Oh, Mark, wait. Please. We’ll sit Trevor down together and talk to him, explain things to him, present a united front that will help cushion what he’s being told, and—”
“You don’t get it, do you?” Mark interrupted. “You’re no longer pushing everyone’s buttons, deciding how it’s all going to happen. I’m back, Emily. You had a nice long run of controlling all of our lives, but it’s over, finished, done. Oh, yeah, I’m back and I’m in charge now. Get used to it, because that’s the way it’s going to be.”
Five
Emily’s business, Then and Now, was housed in a small, one-room-plus-a-bathroom office in a strip mall. She had made it as homey as possible with numerous plants, two comfortable chairs fronting her desk and a low side cupboard with albums of photographs of projects she had taken part in. Against the back wall was a drafting table placed so she could see anyone who entered while she was working there.
In the middle of the afternoon following the dinner with Mark, Emily sat on the high stool in front of the drafting table and yawned. Then yawned again.
Oh, good grief, she thought, she was so tired. She’d hardly slept last night as she’d relived every minute detail of the hours spent with Mark.
The man was driving her over the edge, she thought dismally. One minute he was kissing the socks off her and the next he was yelling in anger, declaring that he was in charge of things now, by golly.
Emily sighed and straightened on the stool, staring at the pen-and-ink drawing she was attempting to complete to be the cover for a contracted project. It consisted of an historical report on a turn-of-the-century house in Ventura, a copy of the inspection by the historical society and Emily’s recommendations as to how those requirements could be accomplished.
She had been working for weeks on this assignment and had discovered a multitude of fascinating facts about the house and who had lived, loved and died there. All she had to do was finish this drawing, deliver the report and receive the much-needed check.
“So get to work,” she ordered herself. “Draw your little heart out, Emily MacAllister, because your son is out-growing every article of clothing he owns…again.”
Trevor, she thought. He was spending heaven only knew how much time today at the pool with Mark acting as his swimming coach. Were they getting along, becoming buddies, pals, a team of good ol’ boys?
Would Trevor ask Mark again, since he had him alone, if Mark had known Trevor’s father back in high school?
Dear heaven, she’d been so stunned when Trevor had broached the subject of his father at dinner last night. Had she been kidding herself all these years, playing ostrich, going merrily along believing that Trevor had no problem with his daddy-less status and the fact that she refused to reveal the identity of his father?
She had a sinking feeling in her stomach that that was exactly how it was. Trevor had kept silent on the subject for her sake. He’d changed the subject very quickly last night when he’d realized she was becoming upset, bless his heart.
Oh, Trevor, honey, Emily thought, closing her eyes. She’d done what she decided was the best for everyone involved, but mothers weren’t perfect. At least not the mother named Emily MacAllister.
Her mind was a maze of worry and confusion. And her heart?
“Don’t go there, Emily,” she said, picking up the pen. “Just don’t. Draw a window on this dumb house.”
As Emily put the pen to paper the door to the office opened and she looked up, her breath catching as Mark entered. He shut the door and glanced around, before walking slowly toward her. Very slowly toward her.
Like a sleek panther stalking its prey, Emily thought, swallowing a little bubble of hysteria. He moved with the easy, masculine grace of a man who was very comfortable in his own body. The Mark of old used to nearly fall on his head when he attempted to tie his shoes.
Mark stopped in front of the drafting table, glanced at the picture, then met Emily’s wide-eyed gaze.
“Nice place,” he said. “Professional but cozy.” He paused. “The name you chose for your business is interesting, too. Then and Now. It sort of sums up where you and I are at the moment, too, doesn’t it?”
“Was there something you wanted?” Emily said, aware that her voice was not quite steady.
You, Mark thought, then frowned. Damn it, where had that come from? He hadn’t pondered over that answer, it had just been there the instant the question had been asked. And he couldn’t deny the truth of his reply. He wanted, desired, wished to make love with Emily for hours, hold her, caress and kiss her, feel her tremble in his arms as her passion heightened.
But which Emily did he desire? The Emily of then? Or the Emily of now? Then and Now. How ironical that that was what she’d chosen to name her business.
“Mark?” Emily said.
“What? Oh, I stopped by to tell you that Trevor and I had a great time at the pool. I worked him hard and that kiddo will sleep good tonight, believe me. He’s got the natural talent, Emily, could be a major player on the swim team and he’s stoked about it, wants to try out for the team when school starts.”
“Oh,” Emily said, nodding. “Well, sure, that would be all right because he gets excellent grades.” She smiled. “I can attend all the competitions that are held at Ventura High School. I think I wore a spot smooth on the bench where I always sat when I was cheering for you when you were the star of… Never mind.”
“It meant a lot to me that you were always there. I swam for you as much as for me and the team.”
Emily laughed softly. “Remember the state championship meet? I yelled so much I lost my voice for a week, but you guys won. Oh, I was so proud of you that day because you were the star, the leader, and you broke three school records and—” Her voice trailed off and a warm flush crept onto her cheeks. “I don’t know why I’m going on and on about all this, for heaven’s sake. It was a long time ago. As Trevor would say ‘it’s history.’”
“It’s part of our history, Emily.”
“Well, yes, I suppose it is,” she said, averting her eyes from Mark’s and fiddling with the pen. “But there’s no purpose to be served by talking about it because we don’t have a future together. Reminiscing about special memories is for people who… You know what I’m trying to say.”
“Emily, I—”
“Mark,” she interrupted, looking at him again, “did Trevor bring up the subject of whether you knew his father while the two of you were at the pool?”
“No,” Mark said, shaking his head. “He didn’t mention it at all. I told him, very casually, that I was built like him when I was his age and even through my high-school days, and that I filled out after I graduated. He lit up when he heard that news. I even said that I’d had an annoying cowlick like his and that I’d bet a buck that would be controlled once his hair thickened as he got older just as mine did.
Plain Jane MacAllister Page 5