“Okay, Marco, I’ll stay,” she said. “But on one condition. That I sleep in here with Kristen. For the next two days just consider me yours.”
Gretchen nearly groaned out loud. She’d done it again: opened her mouth and inserted her foot. Closing her eyes, she uttered a silent prayer for fortitude and waited.
“Something wrong?” he asked.
“Just bracing myself for the inevitable,” she told him.
“The inevitable what?”
“The remark you’re going to make about my slip of the tongue.”
“Oh, that,” he said easily. “Hey, you just agreed to help me out here. I wouldn’t touch that slip of the tongue with a ten-foot pole.”
She opened her eyes and smiled at him. “Smart man.”
He smiled back at her. “Thank you.” Gratitude replaced the entreaty in his eyes. “And thank you, also, for agreeing to help me out. I don’t know how I’ll ever repay you.”
Her heart swelled. “I’ll think of something,” she said lightly.
“Just in case you were worried,” he said, “with Kristen by your side, you’ll be safe from any unwanted attention from me. In fact, if you’d like, we could place a moratorium on seduction for the weekend.”
Wasn’t he the one who had said he’d find a way, even if she was holding the baby in her arms? Not that she was about to remind him.
“No need for the moratorium,” she said. “I already know I’m safe.”
That piqued his curiosity. “How do you know that?”
“I don’t have any birth control,” she explained. Okay, that wasn’t strictly a lie. She had bought a package of condoms before her abortive attempt at seducing him. But she didn’t have them with her. They were safe next door, at the bottom of her sweater drawer, out of sight from prying eyes. “And I want children. Oodles of them.”
“Touché,” he said with that endearing lopsided grin of his that made her heart thud. “In that case, you’re safer here than in a nunnery.”
She didn’t know why the thought depressed her. “You don’t watch much Monty Python, do you?” she muttered.
“What?”
“Where do you keep your linens?”
Marco held a still sleeping Kristen while Gretchen put the portable crib together and made up a bed on the living room sofa.
“You’re supposed to put her on her back,” she said, when he lowered the child to her stomach. “They think it helps prevent SIDS,” she added at his questioning look.
“See how much I need you?” he commented as he gently turned the little girl over.
Kristen gave a soft cry, and her eyelashes fluttered. They both held their breaths until her body stilled and her breathing grew deep once more.
See how much I need you? Marco’s words echoed in Gretchen’s ears. What she needed, she decided, was a good, stiff drink. Because she now knew two things without a doubt.
The first was that, despite never being treated by him, she knew exactly what kind of doctor he’d be. The way he’d handled Kristen said it all. He’d be tender, caring, thoughtful; the patient’s comfort uppermost in his mind at all times.
He was every bit as good a doctor as he’d claimed, probably better. Could a man who gave so much of himself to his work have anything left over for anyone else? For her?
The second thing she knew was that the minute she closed her eyes, she was going to picture the way his strong, capable hands, with their long, lean fingers, had gently handled the sleeping child. And then she was going to torment herself mercilessly by imagining how those very same hands would feel on her.
Unfortunately alcohol and baby-sitting didn’t mix. Also out were sleeping pills and tranquilizers, not that she had any. She’d just have to rough it alone. And count sheep anytime an unwanted thought or image invaded her mind.
“I hope your friend and his wife reconcile,” she said, searching for a topic that would take her mind off of him.
“Me, too.”
“You don’t sound overly optimistic.”
“Why do you think I’m a confirmed bachelor?”
He sure was going out of his way to remind her of that. She manufactured a yawn.
“I think I’ll go to sleep, too. Who knows what time Kristen might wake up. I’d better be rested. Goodnight, Marco.”
“Goodnight, Gretchen.” In the doorway he gave her one last look. “Thanks again. For everything.”
“You’re welcome.” For everything.
Though she’d been convinced that sleep would be impossible with him so close by, the minute her head hit the pillow Gretchen fell into a dreamless slumber.
Chapter 5
With only the predawn light to illuminate his way, Marco descended the stairs in his bare feet and crossed to the living room doorway. Thrusting his hands deeply into the pockets of his robe, he gazed silently at the woman asleep on his sofa.
She looked like an angel. His own personal angel come to Earth.
But what kind of angel was she really? A guardian angel, sent to help him with Kristen? Or a fallen angel, sent to tempt and torment him beyond all human endurance? At the moment it was a toss-up.
She lay on her left side, her right arm stretched protectively across the railing of the portable crib that, sometime during the night, she’d moved to rest against the sofa. The sight was the most alluring thing he’d seen in years. She was a born mother, he realized, and had to remind himself why that was a bad thing.
Had Kristen awakened in the middle of the night? Had she been fretful and fussy, crying for the comfort of her mother’s arms? Had it taken Gretchen a while to calm the child and then for the two of them to fall back to sleep? Was that why they both slept so soundly now, neither of them moving, neither of them aware of his presence?
If indeed that was what had taken place, Marco hadn’t heard. He hadn’t exaggerated when he’d told Gretchen that he was a sound sleeper. When he’d climbed into his bed the night before, he remembered hoping that she’d be comfortable enough on the sofa, and had felt a stab of guilt that he would be sleeping on his own comfortable mattress. They were the last conscious thoughts he’d been aware of until his eyes popped open ten minutes ago, at exactly five o’clock.
Gretchen’s tousled brown hair rayed out on the pillow like a halo. In sleep, her face looked serene and untroubled. Innocent. At some point she’d kicked off her covers, and her nightgown had inched up, exposing her legs from the knee down.
Instead of finding the view provocative, Marco surprised himself by wanting to reach down and pull the sheet back up over her sleeping form. He couldn’t understand the need. She’d revealed much more leg in that tight black dress she’d worn four days ago.
Perhaps it had something to do with the design of the nightgown itself. Made of a soft, pink, no-frills cotton, it covered her thoroughly from the neck down without so much as hinting at the figure it concealed. He had no doubt that it had been fashioned—and purchased—with modesty in mind.
Even had the gown not revealed her innate modesty, Marco knew he had no right to stare at her like this while she was unaware of his regard. If she wanted him to look at her legs, she’d have to be the one, with full knowledge of the action, to lift her gown, so to speak. And he’d better shepherd his thoughts into a different direction, pronto.
Tiptoeing to the sofa, he bent over and retrieved the sheet that she’d kicked aside, then carefully smoothed it over her still form. When he stood back, he saw with satisfaction that she was now chastely covered from her shoulders on down. The only body parts exposed to his view were her head and her right foot.
He’d never noticed a woman’s feet before. He had pretty much focused his attention and efforts on her face, her breasts, and that infinitely fascinating and mysterious juncture between her thighs. Feet hadn’t even come close to making his short list of erogenous zones.
Gretchen had nice feet, he decided, inclining his head for a closer look. Very nice. Because she was so tall, her feet were larger
than average, her toes long, slender and well shaped.
What, he wondered, would it feel like to wrap his hand around her ankle, to run his thumb across her instep, over her heel and to knead the ball of her foot. How would it taste to draw first one toe, then all five, into his mouth?
Appalled at the turn his thoughts had taken, Marco drew back and stifled a moan of dismay. What was wrong with him? Surely he couldn’t be developing a foot fetish this late in life.
It was time to walk away, he told himself. Time to leave this room. Now.
Still, for untold minutes he simply held his position and stared at Gretchen Montgomery while a strange yearning not even remotely related to a foot fetish or breasts or mysterious thigh junctures grabbed hold of his heart. Snippets from their conversation the night before echoed in his mind.
She’d said she wanted children. Oodles of them. If that wasn’t enough to dash cold water on the flame of his desire for her, he didn’t know what was.
He wasn’t surprised that she wanted children. She was wonderful with Kristen. And from the day he’d moved in here, he’d pegged her as the maternal type. Wasn’t that why he’d turned her down when she propositioned him? It certainly wasn’t because he hadn’t found her desirable.
He’d told her he’d said no because he’d sensed her ambivalence, that he hadn’t wanted to complicate their relationship as landlady and tenant. But that wasn’t the complete truth. Subconsciously he’d also been protecting himself from himself and the unexpected, and amazingly strong, sway she held over him.
She’d also said she didn’t have any birth control. How long, he wondered, had it been since she’d last made love with a man? How many men had she been with? Had any of them been able to tap the well of passion he sensed was centered deep inside her? Could he?
He’d assured her she was safe from him. But she wasn’t safe at all. Because he wanted to make love to her. Badly.
He’d never been more awake, or more aroused, in his life. Kristen or no Kristen, if Gretchen woke this minute, he knew he wouldn’t be able to trust himself not to reach out for her. How was he ever going to make it through the rest of the weekend with his sanity intact?
It was too early to fetch the newspaper. He couldn’t turn on the television without waking his house guests. Even something as simple as brewing coffee might make too much noise. Stifling his need to simply lie down beside Gretchen so he could feel her next to him, Marco did the only sensible thing he could under the circumstances. He turned on his heel and went upstairs. Then he took a cold shower and, shivering, climbed back into bed.
Kristen in her arms, Gretchen approached Marco’s closed bedroom door. “Marco, we’re awake,” she called.
No response.
A roll of thunder shook the house. Gretchen waited till it passed. “Marco?”
Still no response from the other side of the door.
One good thing about the early-morning storm, she reflected. She no longer had to regret that she’d put off doing the items on her list in order to help Marco out this weekend. When she’d been filling out her schedule, which centered mainly around outdoor activities, she’d neglected one tiny thing. The woman who often had a To Do list for her To Do list had forgotten to take into account the weather.
“Rain, rain, go away, come again some other day,” she sang to the child in her arms. “Little Kristen wants to play. Rain, rain, go away.”
Kristen smiled and burbled at her.
Gretchen raised a fist to rap sharply against the closed wood door, then halted abruptly. What was that sound? It definitely wasn’t thunder.
Recognition came, and a slow smile spread across her face. The devastatingly handsome Dr. Marco Garibaldi snored. Not only did he snore, but if the noise he was making was any indication, he was felling the entire rain-forest in there.
A wave of nostalgia washed over her. Her father had snored like that. This morning, listening to Marco snore, she felt oddly comforted. A feeling of well-being made her heart swell. All was right with her world.
She was half tempted to nudge the door open and peer inside. He was such a sound sleeper, he’d never know. Her hesitation had nothing to do with a sense of propriety, or of what was right and wrong. She had the feeling that the image of Marco, sound asleep in his bed, was one she wouldn’t easily forget. There were already too many unforgettable images of him in her mind, and they kept cropping up at the most inconvenient times. She didn’t need to add another one.
“Hey, sweetie,” she said softly, to the child in her arms, “what do you say you and I get dressed and make breakfast?”
Marco opened his eyes to the crashing of thunder, the pelting of rain on the roof and the aroma of freshly brewed coffee. His stomach rumbled. A glance at the clock told him it was nearing nine. How had he slept so late?
As fast as he could, he threw on a pair of shorts and a shirt, splashed water on his face and brushed his hair and teeth. Then, feeling halfway presentable, he made his way downstairs.
A glance into the living room showed that Gretchen had folded up the linens she’d used on the sofa and placed them neatly on the coffee table. He found her in the kitchen, at the stove. Barefoot, she wore a faded pair of cutoff jeans and a shapeless T-shirt. Her hair was pulled back into a ponytail, and her face was free of makeup. She was the total antithesis of the woman who had lured him into her car several days ago.
If she was trying to make herself unattractive to him, which Marco had the niggling suspicion was exactly what she was up to, she failed miserably.
Barefoot and pregnant was the thought that claimed his mind as he gazed at her. What would she look like with her belly swollen with child? It was a thought that none of the other women in his life had ever inspired. But then, he’d rarely spent the night with them. And he’d never let them cook him breakfast.
He hadn’t spent the night with Gretchen, either, he reminded himself. Yes, she’d stayed in his apartment, but while he had slept solo in his lonely bed, she’d slept chastely on the living room sofa.
Still, the thought of her round and heavy with child wouldn’t leave his mind. It was all her fault, damn her. If she hadn’t put sex between them in the first place, he’d never be having these ridiculous thoughts about her. His gaze roved over the figure her baggy T-shirt couldn’t quite hide. Yeah, right.
Kristen cooed to him from the makeshift highchair Gretchen had fashioned out of an oak captain’s chair and some blankets. He crossed the room to chuck the child gently under her chin.
“Good morning,” he said.
“Good morning.” Turning from the stove with a spatula in her hand, Gretchen glanced pointedly at the clock on the wall. “Alarm on the fritz?”
“I beg your pardon?”
“It’s after nine. I thought your internal alarm clock always aroused you at 5:00 a.m. sharp.”
She aroused him more than any alarm clock ever could. So did his memories of the way she’d looked earlier, fast asleep on his sofa.
“It did. Since I don’t have to go into work, I shut it off and went back to sleep.”
A long roll of thunder made her grimace. “It’s definitely a good morning to sleep in.”
“You can say that again. I don’t think we’ll be taking a long stroll in the park.”
“Canoeing is more like it,” she agreed. “According to the weatherman, we can expect this to continue until well into tonight.”
Which meant they’d be stuck inside the entire day. Damn. He’d counted on some outdoor activities to keep some space between them.
“How’s your back?” he asked.
Her brow wrinkled in confusion. “My back? Fine. Why?”
“I just thought sleeping on the sofa might aggravate it. I hope you weren’t too uncomfortable last night.”
She turned back to the stove and expertly flipped a pancake. She must have heard him moving around upstairs to time it so perfectly with his arrival.
“To tell you the truth,” she replied, “
I was quite comfortable. Although I have an extra-hard mattress on my bed, I didn’t even notice I wasn’t sleeping at home.”
Hard or soft, he didn’t want to think about the mattress on her bed, because his thoughts inevitably flew to how she would look on that bed. Specifically flat on her back, her eyes slumbrous with desire, and her hair a wild halo around her head because the thrusting of his fingers through it had made it that way.
Too many more thoughts like these, and he’d be as hard as that damn mattress of hers. Again. He was beginning to understand why moratoriums usually failed. It was like telling a person not to think about purple elephants. Once the suggestion was planted in the brain, of course that’s all the poor sap could think about. He could mutter, “No purple elephants, no purple elephants,” all he wanted, and still it would be all he could think about. Certainly telling himself, “No sex, no sex,” was having absolutely no effect where Gretchen was concerned.
“How did Kristen sleep?” he asked.
“Like an angel.” Gretchen flipped another pancake. “She didn’t wake once.”
“Good.”
“I understand now why you wanted me to sleep with her. We knocked on your door this morning, but you didn’t respond.”
“I told you so.”
“Yes, you did.” She glanced over her shoulder at him. “I hope you don’t mind me making myself at home in your kitchen.”
He should mind, he knew. She looked like she belonged there.
“Not at all. Feel free to help yourself to anything you need.” Including me, he amended silently.
“I also hope you don’t mind that I took Kristen next door with me while I changed.”
“Why would I mind if you did that?”
Promises, Promises Page 8