Mitch followed Jane into the driveway and turned off his SUV. He drew in a deep breath, dreading the next discussion they would have with their daughter. By the time he reached the front door, Jane was already at the bottom of the stairs demanding Kristi’s presence in the living room.
Jane paced and Mitch stood by the fireplace, waiting. Kristi bounded down the stairs and into the living room. “So, was it good? Did she help you?”
Mitch stared hard at his daughter. The image of his little girl being with an older man, with any man, made his stomach hurt. “Sit down. We need to talk with you.”
Kristi’s gaze flicked from his face to Jane’s. “Mom? What’s going on?”
“When you told us about the wonderful Dr. Young, it seems you left something out. Good heavens, Kristi, are you out of your mind? The man is married!” Jane nearly shouted the last word.
Kristi’s face paled. “Uh—I—uh….”
“Now you have nothing to say?” Jane continued, her volume rising.
Mitch stepped forward. “Kristi, honey. If that man is taking advantage of you in some way, you have to tell me. I’ll call the police and then I’ll call the dean of the school.”
“No, Daddy. Don’t. It’s not that at all.” Her face went from pale to flushed. “Okay, look, I might have fibbed just a little.”
“Fibbed?” Mitch asked.
“Given you the wrong impression. Just a wee bit.” She gestured with her thumb and forefinger.
Jane glared down at Kristi. “So enlighten us now. What is the truth, exactly?”
“I was worried about you two, so I did talk with Dr. Young and he did give me Rose Llewellyn’s phone number. I only led you to believe he and I were involved because I wanted you both to get back on the same page. I figured if you worried about me, you’d stop fighting with each other.”
Jane looked up at Mitch, pain filling her eyes.
Mitch sat at Kristi’s other side and took her hand in his. “Honey, we’re not fighting with each other. We’ll work things out.”
“How? By living apart?”
Her eyes bore the same hurt look she’d had when they had sat down to tell their six year old her puppy had run off.
“We went to talk to the counselor today, didn’t we?” Mitch said.
Kristi sniffled. “Did it help?”
“I think it did.” He looked to Jane.
“We talked some things through. And we’re going to go back again after New Year’s. So you did a good thing by getting us there, but you did it the wrong way. Your father and I were heartsick when we found out Dr. Young is married and has children.”
“I’m sorry.”
“How were you going to explain his failure to show up for New Year’s?” Mitch asked.
Kristi shrugged. “I was hoping for a blizzard.”
Mitch stood. “No more lies, okay?”
Nodding, Kristi wrapped her arms around him. “That goes for you, too.”
He hugged his daughter close and kissed the top of her head. “Now go to your room.”
She lifted her head and looked at him wide-eyed. “I’m grounded?”
Mitch laughed. “No. I just want to talk with your mother privately. Okay?”
Kristi turned and hugged Jane, murmuring, “I’m sorry, Mom.”
After their daughter had disappeared up the stairs, Mitch let out a breath. “Thank God for small favors. I never thought I’d be happy that one of the kids lied to us.”
“I know. I’m so relieved. But, at the same time, I’m worried. We owe it to the kids to try to work things out, don’t you think?”
Mitch nodded. “How are we going to do the homework with both kids around?”
“Like Rose said, we have to go someplace private where we won’t be interrupted. There’s always the car.”
“That’s true. It’s just talking. When?”
“How about Wednesday evening?” Jane said. “Oh, wait. That’s New Year’s Eve.”
“Do you have plans?” he asked.
“No. Do you?”
He shook his head. “What about the kids? Are they going out with friends?”
“If they do, it won’t be until later. I’ll prepare dinner. Plan to arrive by eight.”
He flinched at the command and then said, “Eight. I’ll bring wine.”
Mitch felt a tug as he moved to the door. He wanted to stay. Instead he shoved his hands into his jacket pockets and headed to his SUV.
Chapter Nineteen
“I have plans with some of my friends from high school, Mom. I swear I told you that before.” Kristi stood in front of the bathroom mirror brushing her hair.
“You can go out after dinner,” Jane insisted.
Kristi rolled her eyes. “We’re having dinner.”
A car horn sounded and Kristi ran to the front door, motioning that she’d just be a minute. Then she turned and called up the stairs. “Rob, come on if you want a ride. My friends are here.”
“Rob’s going with you?”
“Oh, no. We’re dropping him off at Mark’s house.”
Rob pounded down the stairs with a back pack slung over his shoulder. “Bye, Mom. See you tomorrow. Happy New Year!”
“Happy New Year, Mom.” Kristi kissed her cheek. “Tell Daddy the same for us.”
The door slammed shut and Jane was alone, surrounded by the hissing quiet and the aroma of roasted pork loin. Her first instinct was to call Mitch and cancel. Then she realized this could be the perfect time for them to do their therapy homework.
She was taking the rolls out of the oven when Mitch’s car pulled into the driveway. A light snow had fallen and he came to the back door, stomping snow from his shoes and then wiping them on the mat in the entry. “Smells great in here.”
“Thanks. Dinner will be ready in about fifteen minutes. I thought we could start with salad.”
“Is it in the fridge?”
“Yes.”
“I’ll get it. Where are the kids?”
“Rob’s staying at Mark’s house tonight. Kristi went out with friends. I told her to be back by one a.m. I didn’t know until this evening that they wouldn’t be here.”
He glanced at her. “Or you would have canceled?”
“No. I don’t know. Mitch, you have to admit it’s a little awkward with just the two of us.”
“Doesn’t have to be. It’s just dinner. I’ll leave right after if you want.”
“I didn’t say that. Let’s just have a nice dinner, okay?”
Despite, the friction, they moved around the kitchen and one another with a comfortable familiarity that comes from twenty years of sharing the same space—kitchen, bathroom—bed. Jane shook the thought from her head and removed her apron.
Their conversation was less comfortable. Mitch seemed to become agitated when she asked about his job prospects. She clammed up when he brought up her book—the one she was having a hell of a time finishing. She was not going to make her deadline.
Hoping a change of scenery would reduce the tension, Jane said, “Why don’t we have coffee and dessert in the living room?”
“I’ll get the fireplace lit. It’s gotten much colder out. I need to see where that draft is coming from. We’re throwing money out the window heating this place.”
We? The phone rang and Jane picked it up.
“Mom, it’s getting icy. I’m going to stay with Julie tonight. Her mom said she’ll bring me home tomorrow afternoon.”
“Good plan. Be safe and have fun. Happy New Year, sweetie.”
“Happy New Year to you. Tell Daddy I said the same.”
Jane ended the call, wondering why Kristi was so sure Mitch was still there. Just how much engineering was Kristi and Rob doing? Jane placed two mugs of coffee and a plate of brownies on a tray and carried them to the living room.
Mitch settled on one end of the sofa, setting his cup of coffee on a coaster on the coffee table. “Do you remember that vacation we took to Mackinac Island for the Lilac Festival?�
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Jane occupied the opposite end of the sofa, less than three feet of cushion separating them. She sighed. “Oh, I loved that trip. That place is pure magic. I want to go back some day.”
“I expected it to be as dull as dirt. I thought I would hate it.”
She turned and stared at him. “Then why did you plan the trip in the first place?”
“Because you kept saying the one thing you wanted to do some time was go to Mackinac Island for the Lilac Festival. It sounded like the perfect birthday present.”
“It was. But you hated it.”
“No, I said I thought I would hate it. I kind of enjoyed not having to dodge traffic. Once we got there, it was great. Magic, like you said.”
She dropped her head back on the sofa and laughed. “Remember the night we came in late and didn’t bother to turn on the lights but just headed for the bed?”
Mitch laughed with her. “We had no idea they had placed big slices of chocolate fudge wrapped in plastic wrap on the pillows for us. That fudge never had a chance.”
“And I was so embarrassed the way that chocolate looked all melted and streaked over the sheets that I washed them by hand in the shower, then couldn’t get them dry before housekeeping came to make up the room.”
“I hit the lights first thing the next night. I wasn’t wasting another slice of fudge.”
She reached out and playfully smacked his hand. “Oh, it was a waste, was it?”
He trapped her hand in his and squeezed. “Not at all. As I recall, we did a good job of working that chocolate into the sheets.”
“It was like being on a second honeymoon.” A flush of heat spread through her as Mitch’s fingers played across her palm. “What made you think of that now?”
He shrugged. “I don’t know. New Year’s Eve. I guess I’m feeling sentimental.”
A lump of emotion clogged her throat. Was it too late for them? She didn’t know the answer, but knew she needed to get some distance before the heat spreading up her arm descended into more delicate areas. “Want to watch the Times Square festivities for a while?” She crossed the room and picked up the remote. Her hand trembled as she turned on the TV.
Mitch checked his watch. “Getting close to midnight. What time is Kristi supposed to be home?”
“She called to say she was going to stay with Julie, that the roads are icy.”
“You finished with your coffee?” Mitch picked up his cup and reached for hers. “Maybe a glass of wine to toast the New Year? We only have about fifteen minutes.”
“Wine? Oh, no. I have champagne on ice. The kids will miss out because I planned to let them each have a little.”
He grinned. “Then it’s all ours.”
The grin. The reference to ‘ours.’ His earlier familiar touch. She just needed to get through the next fifteen minutes, share a glass of champagne, and wish Mitch a Happy New Year. He would go back to his apartment and she would curl up alone in their king-sized bed. Probably to cry herself to sleep. “I’ll get the glasses.”
She returned to the living room, setting the champagne and glasses on the tray. Mitch popped the cork and champagne sprayed onto the serving tray. Jane dabbed at it with a wad of paper napkins.
On the TV, the announcer excitedly began the countdown to the New Year. When the strains of Auld Lang Syne began, Jane stared at the crowd, the couples embracing and locking lips. She lifted her glass and smiled at Mitch. “Happy New Year.”
He gazed into her eyes and took a step closer. “Happy New Year, Janie.” His voice was thick and deep. Then he took her glass and set them both on the tray. She swallowed hard as he turned, took her in his arms—and began to dance.
“What are you doing?”
“Making a New Year’s resolution. I will do one thing to try to change for you if you’ll do the same for me. One thing each. And you always complained that I wouldn’t dance.” With that, he stepped on her toes. “Sorry.”
“What do I have to do?”
“I can’t tell you that. What do you want to do?”
Tears stung her eyes as she looked up at this man she loved fiercely.
He lifted his eyebrows. “Speechless?”
She nodded, stretching to press her lips to his.
Mitch pulled her against him, his tongue probing.
She moaned and wrapped her arms around his neck.
Jane barely remembered climbing the stairs. She did recall Mitch slowly tormenting her as he undressed her. She began to ache again remembering the way his hands moved over her, as if he were discovering her body for the first time. The way he’d made love to her, slowly, intent on her pleasure. She spooned against him and breathed. An edge of sadness shadowed the contentment she felt. This had been sex. Wonderful, satisfying sex. But it didn’t resolve everything. A chill bounced along her spine as she considered that, even though she loved this man and they were compatible in so many ways, their future still remained uncertain.
~ * ~
Mitch slowly opened his eyes. Was he dreaming, or was he actually wrapped around Jane, naked in their bed? He breathed in the scent of her shampoo. His hand cupped one of her breasts and his other hand rested on her bare hip. Arousal stirred in him once again. What the hell was going on? Now that he and Jane were living apart it was as if he couldn’t get enough of her. He felt like he was twenty-five again, remembering when they would make love all night long and he would go to work exhausted, but grinning.
She stirred and wriggled against him, causing him to groan. He kissed her bare shoulder and traced his thumb over the tip of her breast. Her response was immediate. She turned to face him.
“Good morning. Well, almost morning,” he said.
“What time is it?” That throaty, smoky quality in her voice after sex and sleep always turned him on.
“Four-thirty.” He continued to stroke her back.
She pressed a palm to his ribs then slid lower, grasping him lightly.
Mitch closed his eyes and groaned. “God, Janie. How have we…?”
She kissed him lightly. “Don’t talk.” Then she trailed kisses down his body before claiming her prize.
When she returned her mouth to his, he rolled her onto her back and used one knee to open her thighs. His fingers stroked and explored the depths of her.
She arched against his hand, breathing hard. “Mitch, please….”
He silenced her with a deep kiss, his tongue sweeping over hers, his fingers buried in her warmth. When she raked his back with her nails and writhed beneath him, he withdrew his fingers and entered her. With a hand on her hip, he held her still for a moment, reveling in the feel of her around him. And when she bucked against his restraint, he moved slowly and deliberately with her. A dance they had perfected over the years, knowing one another, anticipating the next move.
Afterward, Mitch cradled Jane against his chest.
She sniffled.
“Are you crying? Did I hurt you?” he asked.
“Yes, I’m crying. No, you didn’t hurt me. That was just so…so….”
“It was.”
“I can’t describe it.” She kissed his chest and then looked up at him. “Three times in one night?”
He smiled. “What would Janelle DuMonde have to say about that? I’d bet her heroes have nothing on me.”
She frowned. “Why would you bring that up now?”
Uh-oh. “I was teasing.”
She pulled away and sat up, tugging the sheet over her bare breasts. “No, you weren’t. See, that’s what you always do. You say what you really mean, but you couch it in a joke or a tease when I call you on it.”
“I do not. If you could take a joke once in a while…. Look, let’s not fight. That’s no way to start the New Year.”
“Why not? At least we’d be speaking honestly to one another.”
“What’s that supposed to mean?”
“You know exactly what I mean. You’ll say anything right now to keep me in this bed and go for round number four.
Well, buddy, that’s not happening. I think you should leave.”
“And this is what you do. As soon as things start to get better for us, you find a reason to blow holes in it. You sure weren’t complaining ten minutes ago.”
“Well, I’m complaining now. This was nothing more for you than sex and a chance to prove your point.”
“My point? Which is what, exactly?”
She scrambled out of the bed and reached for her bathrobe, cinching it tightly as if to say, ‘This door is closed.’ “See, you don’t even know. I’m going downstairs to my office. You can let yourself out.”
Now Mitch was on his feet, pulling on his pants and searching for his socks. “I’ve already let myself out. Apparently just in the nick of time.”
She slammed the bedroom door, cutting him off.
“Damn crazy woman,” he muttered, reaching under the bed for his left shoe. “She doesn’t know what she wants and, when she gets what she wants, still isn’t satisfied. Maybe the transformation is complete and Jane has been totally absorbed by Janelle DuMonde.” He let the door bang against the wall and pounded down the stairs.
The house was deathly quiet. He opened the front door, then turned and strode back to her closed office door. There was nothing more to be said. Not tonight. “Happy New Year to me.”
He gunned the engine of the SUV, not caring if he disturbed the neighbors. Let Jane deal with their wrath and questions. Distracted by his own frustration, Mitch only became aware of the stop sign after he’d gone through it. Fortunately, no other vehicle was in sight. Until he saw the blue flashing lights in his rear-view mirror.
He pulled to the curb and lowered his window.
Officer Blakely flashed a light on his face, then grinned. “Mr. Devereaux. You in a hurry this morning?”
“I’m sorry. I was distracted.”
“Those distractions can get someone hurt. License and registration, please.”
“Is this really necessary? There’s not another car on the road and I promise to be more careful the next time?”
“I’m sure. License and registration. How’s Mrs. Devereaux?” the office asked.
The Real Thing Page 14