FROM HOUSECALLS TO HUSBAND

by Christine Flynn

"You mentioned the diseases out there." A quarter inch of cuff unraveled from her sock. "What do you say to a woman when you want to know if she's okay? If she doesn't have anything communicable, I mean. Some of that stuff is so scary."

  Because she was busy stuffing the thread under her cuff, she didn't know when he glanced from the entwined limbs on the screen. But after several seconds passed and he hadn't answered, she looked over to find him quietly watching her.

  "It hasn't come up," he admitted, clearly curious. "I meant what I said before. I haven't been with anyone since Maria and I split. Before that, the partners I'd had brought it up, and I made sure I used protection. Why? Have you met someone you're getting serious about?"

  She gave a little smile, her hair brushing her shoulders as she shook her head. "Hardly. I've only been out with a couple of guys since Jim and I broke up. They never got past the peck-at-the-front-door stage."

  It had been nearly two years since she and Jim Mitchell had parted ways, which was about how long the two of them had been together. He'd been a nice guy, an architect with a terrific future ahead of him, one he'd wanted to share with her. She'd seriously considered it, too, until she'd faced the fact that while she cared for him, she didn't love him. She didn't expect fireworks out of a relationship, but she wanted—needed—something more than what they'd had. Even as badly as she wanted a family and children of her own, marriage wouldn't have been fair to either one of them.

  The only light in the room came from the flickering images on the television and the lamp on the end table beside Mike. With that lamp on low, his shadowed expression looked almost … protective. "The only one I knew about was the guy you met at the Octoberfest in Mount Angel. The investment broker. Who was the other one?"

  "Your cousin. Brandon. Remember? Your mom fixed me up with him when he was visiting from Medford."

  "He doesn't count. He's family."

  "He wasn't my family."

  Mike didn't look any more pleased with her rationale than he had when she'd mentioned Jim. She wasn't exactly sure why that was, either. He'd only met Jim once. That had been back when he and Maria had been married and living in Portland and Katie was already working at Honeygrove Memorial. There had been a four-year period after she'd graduated and moved back from Portland herself, when she and Mike had sort of drifted apart, the way friends sometimes do when marriage and relocation enter the picture. But, even though Mike had never said a word against Jim, she'd sensed that he hadn't cared much for him. That was fair enough. She hadn't cared much for Maria, either.

  "Maybe I will have a refill."

  "You can have mine. I have to drive."

  She didn't really want the wine. She just wanted something to concentrate on other than the odd jealousy she'd felt toward his ex-wife. But she reached for the glass anyway, thinking to take a sip and set it on the coffee table. The glass didn't make it that far. When Mike held it out, her hand collided with his, pale liquid sloshing over her thigh.

  Katie gasped.

  Mike swore.

  Reaching past her, he snatched a napkin from the coffee table. Katie, trying not to spill the few remaining drops in the glass, leaned toward the table with him to set down the glass. Angled as she was with her legs tucked under her, she had to lean sideways. To keep from tipping over, she also had to grab his shoulder.

  "Hold it!" Stifling a giggle, she gripped harder, trying to keep her balance when he moved closer. "I'm going to wind up on the floor."

  "Then give me the glass. You're going to drop it."

  "Am not."

  "Are to."

  She was. Slipping one arm behind her back to keep her steady, Mike plucked the stemmed goblet from her fingers with his other hand. "You dope," he muttered, grinning himself. "You're going to break the glass and your neck, too."

  He'd placed the glass on the table and her knee had jammed against his hip when he finally met her eyes. Warm brown, flecked with gold, they sparkled with humor. Beneath the hand supporting her back, he could feel the delicate bones of her spine and the edges of her shoulder blades as she shifted to keep her balance. The enticing fullness of her breast pressed to his side.

  He felt his own smile fade. The breath he drew brought her scent, that combination of spring and warm female that suddenly didn't seem as innocent as it had before. Close up, there was a seductive edge to it that played utter havoc with the nerves at the base of his spine.

  This is Katie, he chastized himself.

  Repeating the admonition, he steeled himself and prepared to move back. He would pull her upright, drop his hands and ignore the raw, unexpected hunger burning low in his gut. Or so he was thinking as he watched her smile slowly die.

  In the space of a heartbeat, she'd gone utterly still. He didn't know what she saw in his expression, but there was no mistaking what he saw move through hers. Confusion. Hesitation. Considering that he was holding her as intimately as a lover, neither surprised him. What caught him totally unprepared was the awareness that darkened her eyes, turning the gold flecks molten.

  That awareness jolted through him like lightning, frying his logic on the way. This was Katie, and somewhere in the back of his mind, sanity was telling him he should let her go. At the moment, he just couldn't think of why that was necessary. His glance skimmed her face, moving over her clear, poreless skin to the wild tangle of tawny hair brushing her shoulders. She wore it loose tonight, and it looked so sensuously soft that it fairly begged him to sink his fingers into its spirals and curls.

  The sensations elicited by the eroticism in the movie had been nothing more than physiological reaction to visual stimulus. Predictable, uncomplicated, undirected. The desires stirring inside him now were infinitely stronger and screaming with complications. As his glance dropped to the inviting fullness of her mouth, there was no mistaking their direction at all.

  He gave her every chance in the world to pull away. But she didn't move. As he slowly lowered his head, he wasn't sure she even breathed.

  He wasn't sure he was breathing himself when his mouth touched hers. The contact was tentative, testing, an experiment driven by opportunity as much as longstanding curiosity. That curiosity seemed to be there for her, too. Or maybe she was just curious to see what he would do. When she still didn't move, he cupped his hand to the side of her neck and slipped his fingers into the silk of her hair. With his thumb on her cheek, he angled her head the way he wanted it, coaxing her open to him, and touched his tongue to hers.

  He didn't expect the heat. The fire. The warm, sweet taste of her strafed through him like a flame set to dry tinder, incinerating any intention he had of ending the kiss right there. He drew her closer, drinking deeper. If she'd given him any indication at all that she wanted him to stop, he would have found a way to let her go. Somehow. But the small sound that caught in her throat hinted far more at longing than protest.

  The next sound he heard was his own, the moan torn from deep within his chest when she started kissing him back. Shifting her curvy little body in his arms, digging her fingers into his shoulders, she mated her tongue with his. Her breathing quickened, her heartbeat racing against his chest.

  She wants this.

  A fist of pure need slammed into his gut.

  This is Katie, he repeated, only this time, the phrase held more realization than warning.

  Her unexpected impact on him would have had him pulling back himself, if he hadn't just felt her stiffen. As if suddenly aware of what she was doing, she lowered her head, turning away to hide the confusion he'd glimpsed in her eyes.

  With his hand still on her neck, he traced the line of her jaw with his thumb. "Should I have done that?"

  She shook her head, her loose curls caressing the back of his hand. "I'm not sure."

  She dropped her hands from his shoulders. He let her go, watching as she pushed her trembling fingers through her hair and rose from the sofa. She didn't pace, as he'd thought she might do. Or start clearing the coffee table or straightening and fus
sing as she tended to do when she was agitated. She just stood there, looking as if she didn't quite know which way to turn.

  She was trying for distance. But, apparently, not from him since she stayed right where she was.

  Reaching for the remote on the coffee table, he punched the mute button, instantly killing the squeal of tires, and rose beside her. When she didn't look up, he turned her face to him and cupped her cheek with his palm.

  "I can't say I haven't thought about kissing you before, Katie. You've just never given me any reason to think you wanted me to touch you."

  She'd given him plenty of reason now. "I know."

  "Then you've thought about it before, too?"

  The play of emotions on her face was fascinating. Guilt and caution collided with need. She didn't have to say a word for him to have his answer.

  With the edge of his thumb he traced the corner of her mouth. "What we were talking about before," he prefaced, drawn by the almost unconscious way she moved her head toward his hand, "was there a reason we were talking about safe sex, or were we just making idle conversation?"

  Katie's heart jerked against her ribs. "I thought we were just talking. To divert ourselves from the movie," she explained, finding his earlier analysis as good as any. "We talk about a lot of things."

  His fingers traced her collarbone, slipping up to curve at the side of her face. "It seems there are few things we don't talk about, too."

  Obviously, she thought, but the word lodged in her throat. He was turning her to putty with nothing more than the brush of his thumb over her mouth, scrambling her mind with the realization that he'd actually thought about kissing her.

  The thought of what else he might have considered pooled heat low in her stomach.

  "For instance," he said, his deep voice quiet and faintly accusing, "you never told me you needed to be held. If you had, I'm sure we could have reciprocated on occasion. Especially after days like today."

  "It didn't seem like something I should ask." She swallowed, at a total loss over which was more disarming—the fact that he'd sensed her need for a pair of arms and the knowledge that he sometimes shared the feeling, or the compelling, almost proprietary way he touched her. "'Would you hold me?' isn't quite the same as 'Would you donate supplies to the clinic, or rescue my cat?'"

  "But the need is there," he countered easily. "And I'd do anything I could for you, Katie. You know that." His eyes locked on hers, darkly, beautifully intent. "Is there anything else you haven't mentioned that you'd care to share?"

  Like the fact that I'm scared to death of what I feel for you? she wondered. Or, how very much I'd like you to shut up and kiss me again because I'm afraid to think right now? "I'd better plead the fifth."

  The admission made the gleam in his eyes turn feral. "Then answer one question for me." He stepped closer, though he was already so close she could feel the heat of his big body. "If you're not sure how you feel about what just happened," he murmured, tracing her lower lip with the tip of his finger, "what would happen if I do it again?"

  Twenty minutes ago, her mind had been churning. Now, it didn't seem to be functioning at all. There were reasons she should put an end to this delicious torture. Reasons she should ignore the incredible yearning he unleashed inside her. She just couldn't think of what they were. Not when he was touching her. She'd been right about his hands. They were magic. And his voice was pure seduction. Deep, rich, quiet—it flowed over her like warm honey, soothing nerves even as his touch enlivened them.

  The combination was positively lethal.

  Splaying her hand on his chest, she whispered, "Maybe we should see."

  It wasn't the wine that made her head spin. She hadn't had that much. It was the feel of his mouth playing over hers and of his arms closing around her. She wasn't even sure if it was his heartbeat she felt, or her own, knocking against her ribs when his hand drifted down her back and he pulled her closer. But she could feel him hard against her, his hunger fueling hers when, long, breathless moments later, his free hand slipped under her sweatshirt and skimmed toward her breast.

  She was sure her knees would have buckled if he hadn't been holding her. The sensations he elicited rocked her to her core.

  "Katie," he whispered, his voice strained. "There was one thing we didn't talk about. Are you on anything?"

  "The Pill," she murmured, not even questioning why he would ask. "I never went off them." At the moment, she couldn't remember why that was, or what she'd been hoping for. It didn't matter. Mike was kissing her again, drugging her with his taste and the heat of his breath against her skin. With his hands on her hips, his mouth making delicious forays from her lips to her neck, he backed her toward the little hallway.

  It didn't occur to her to slow them down, much less stop what they were doing. When she bumped the corner of the wall and he took her by the shoulders to get her on a straighter path, her only thought was that Mike wanted her as badly as she wanted him. Beyond that, she simply couldn't think.

  Still guiding her backward, his hands skimmed her sides, dipping under her sweatshirt to pull the fleecy fabric over her head. She was halfway down the hall when the shirt hit the floor. By the time he unfastened the clasp of her bra and slid the lacy straps down her arms, they'd reached the doorway to her bedroom.

  He tossed the bra on her dresser. Without taking his mouth from hers, he pulled back far enough for her to unbutton his shirt while he pushed her leggings over her hips. His shirt landed on the bra and her leggings over her antique rocker just as she felt the edge of her bed bump against the backs of her legs.

  "Put your arms around me."

  His breath feathered hot against her ear at the command. Slipping her arms around his neck, she felt his rock solid chest brush her softer flesh. Fire raced through her at the contact. But fire was racing through her everywhere he touched. His lips traced a line of heat up her throat to her jaw, finally claiming her mouth when he cupped her breasts with his palms, taunting her nipples with the slow strokes of his thumbs. Then, his mouth replaced his hands and the only thing that kept her upright was her grip on his beautifully muscled shoulders.

  She'd never felt passion before. The realization was as stunning as the white-hot need he fed as his hands shaped her waist, her hips, her stomach. She'd never known what it was like to be slowly robbed of her sanity by the feel of a man. She'd known arousal and the warmly pleasant feelings lovemaking could bring. But she'd never known she could be driven mad. She'd never known either, that she could be driven to beg. There was hunger in his touch, a raw, aching urgency that had her sinking her fingers into his hair, urging him closer still. She wanted him, all of him.

  She didn't realize she'd voiced the thought until she felt him pull away. But the sharp sting of disappointment was salved by the realization that he'd only stopped to finish unzipping his pants. Within moments, slacks, briefs and socks had gone the way of the rest of their clothing, and he was drinking the moan that caught in her throat when he pulled her fully against him.

  The feel of him, hot and hard against her stomach, nearly undid her. But it was the feel of him pressing her back to the bed, his big body covering hers, that nearly turned her blood to steam.

  Contrasts flooded her senses. The delicious smoothness of his back, the coarse, masculine feel of his heavy, hair-roughened leg as he wedged hers apart. She felt his hand skim along the back of her thigh, the warmth of his hand on her cool skin burning like a brand as he drew her leg over his. She murmured his name. At least she thought she did. His fingers stole through her hair to hold her head between his hands, his mouth coming down hard on hers as he entered her, filled her, consumed her.

  There was no holding back. No pretext of slowing down. She met his smooth thrusts, sucking in his breath as he stole hers and felt herself fly into a thousand pieces. Within seconds, his hands tightened their hold and he was flying with her.

  Katie wasn't sure how long it was before their breathing quieted. It could have been sec
onds, or minutes. But the sensual fog finally, inevitably began to lift. As the haze cleared, rationality leaked in, as unwanted as a disruptive guest and just as disconcerting. But just as she started to remember a couple of the more glaring reasons she should have pulled back from Mike while she'd still been capable of logic, he lifted himself off of her and rolled her over with him.

  "Don't think."

  His words were a low rasp, but there was no mistaking their insistence when he threw his leg over hers and tugged her eyelet comforter over their cooling bodies. They hadn't bothered to turn on a light, much less to pull the covers back. "Just let me hold you," he murmured, coaxing her head to his shoulder. "Just for a while."

  Nothing else he could have said just then would have blunted the edge of panic so effectively. He wanted to hold her. Whether he wanted that for himself or for her, she didn't know. But either way, the motion of his hand kept her where she was. With slow, easy strokes, he traced a path from her back to her thigh, the movement seeming as soothing to him as it was to her.

  "Just for a while," he repeated, his voice dropping to a whisper.

  She knew exactly what he was doing. He knew as well as she did that once they moved from each other's arms, nothing would be quite the same. But as long as they stayed where they were, they could postpone the moment they would have to face what they'd done. More than willing to avoid that moment for as long as possible, she curled into the protection of his arms, and let herself think only of how she'd always wanted to be exactly where she was.

  Mike hadn't intended to fall asleep. He especially hadn't planned to spend the night. When he opened his eyes and saw the clock on the nightstand glowing 5:42, he realized he'd done both. He'd also overslept. The only reason he'd awakened now was because a cat had just curled up by his head.

  In the space of seconds, it occurred to him that he couldn't remember the last time he'd slept so soundly. But the realization that he'd just had the best night's sleep he'd experienced in ages was ruined by the fact that he was late. It didn't help matters, either, that Katie lay curled in his arms, her back to his chest and her sweet body creating all manner of havoc in his.