by Gina Wilkins
Walking into that quiet, dark house had made him think of all the other nights he’d come home alone, to be greeted only by silence and shadows. In less than a week of marriage, he was becoming spoiled about having Leslie and Kenny welcome him home. That realization unnerved him, reminding him how badly he could be hurt if he wasn’t very careful. How empty the house would be again when they were gone.
He stepped out of the shower, swiped at his wet skin with a towel and wrapped another around his hips. Combing his wet hair back from his face with his fingers, he walked out of the bathroom and into his bedroom. And then he froze.
Leslie was sitting on the side of the bed. Her auburn hair tumbled around her shoulders, and she’d removed her makeup, leaving her face looking fresh scrubbed and somehow more vulnerable. She wore a thin black satin robe over a matching black satin nightshirt. Her feet were bare.
She looked so beautiful it took his breath away.
“Is, er, something wrong?” he asked automatically, trying without success to read her expression.
Her fingers twisted in her lap—the only outward sign of nerves. “No. It was just...lonely in there.”
In uncharacteristic shyness, her gaze lowered, then widened. He saw the shock that crossed her face before she could mask it.
Though he’d been expecting this moment, he hadn’t looked forward to it. “The scars aren’t exactly pretty, are they?”
She bit her lip, as though to steady it, then said with commendable composure, “They took me by surprise. But they’re not so bad.”
He knew exactly how he looked with the dark-red lines streaking his visibly damaged right leg and hip. If he was to turn around, she would see more scars on his back, mute evidence of two operations. He wasn’t ready to turn around just yet.
He clung to his towel. “I just got out of the shower,” he explained, then felt stupid for making such an obvious statement.
Leslie nodded. “Do you want me to leave?”
With every molecule of his battered body, he wanted her to stay. Yet the jolt of nerves inside him startled him. He and Leslie had made love before, of course, so he shouldn’t be so apprehensive about it. They had been spectacular together before, and he suspected that they would be again. Even though it had been a long period of abstinence for him, he was still reasonably confident that he could perform satisfactorily.
What worried him most was the thought that if he made love to her now, he would never be able to let her go again. And he wasn’t at all certain that she would feel the same way.
“No,” he muttered. “I don’t want you to leave.” Not tonight—not ever.
Her fingers twisted more tightly, knuckles bleached white with strain. “I just thought...” She stopped to moisten her lips. “We are married, after all.”
“That’s true.” His voice was more husky than he would have liked. Silently, he cleared his throat.
She made a muffled sound of frustration. “This is so awkward,” she murmured. “It was so easy between us once.”
He took a step closer to her. “A lot has changed since then. For both of us.”
Leslie nodded, her hair swinging down to hide her face. “It has crossed my mind that maybe you aren’t still attracted to me in the way you were before.”
Another step brought him beside the bed; less than a yard separated them. “That’s one thing that has not changed. I can’t imagine ever not wanting you,” he said frankly.
Her gaze shot up to his face. Her cheeks darkened as her hands went quiet in her lap, still clenched. “Tom?” she asked, her voice uncertain.
He sat beside her on the bed and reached for her, releasing his grip on the towel. Probably he would pay for this, he thought fleetingly. But there was no way he had enough willpower to resist her tonight.
He covered her lips with his, drank in the taste and feel and warmth of her. So long. The words played over and over in his head. He had been so long without her.
Her arms went around him, her palms flattening against the bare, damp skin of his back. He shivered in reaction. So long since she had touched him like this.
Her robe fell away from her shoulders and he ran his hands lingeringly over the bare skin of her arms and her back, brought one hand between them to cup her right breast through the thin barrier of black satin. Her back arched in reaction, and he heard her murmur something against his lips.
“So damned long,” he muttered in response.
She trailed her right hand down his back, fingers lingering to stroke and tease, and then she slipped that inciting hand beneath the towel lying loosely across his lap. A jolt of electricity shot through him, forcing a moan from his throat.
Her fingertips lingered on a knot of scar tissue. She seemed more distressed than repelled. “I wish I had been with you when this happened,” she whispered. “If I had known—if anyone had told me—I would have come.”
He had no doubt that she would indeed have come to visit him had she heard. He grimaced at the thought of her seeing him as he’d been after the accident, hooked up to tubes and wires, still in doubt that he would even walk again.
“Don’t worry about it,” he said more gruffly than he’d intended. “Obviously, I survived.”
At least I won’t be around to watch you kill yourself. He wondered if he was the only one who heard the echo of the bitter prediction she’d made the day she’d left him, a prophecy that had come all too close to proving true.
But he wouldn’t think now of the words they’d exchanged on that painful day. They were together again tonight, and he would be a fool not to savor every moment. Just as it would be foolish for him to worry about how long it would last this time.
His hands tightened spasmodically on her, then moved swiftly to strip away the thin fabric that concealed her from him. She cooperated eagerly.
Together they tumbled to the bed. Tom winced when his awkwardly twisted back twinged in protest of the movement, but he ignored the momentary discomfort. Leslie, however, did not.
“Your back,” she said, stiffening against him in alarm.
“Forget it. I’m fine.”
“Would you admit it if you weren’t?” she asked with a touch of wry humor.
He leaned over her and brushed a strand of hair away from her flushed cheek. “I’m fine,” he repeated firmly. “I’m still perfectly capable of making love with you.”
She reached up to touch his cheek. “I suppose you would know.”
He spoke with a confidence he sincerely hoped was justified. “That’s right. You know how I feel about being coddled, Les. Don’t start it—especially now, for God’s sake.”
She smiled and moved sinuously beneath him, making him catch his breath in immediate reaction. “I just want to make you feel good.”
He pressed her more firmly into the mattress. “Be still,” he ordered her hoarsely. “I don’t want to feel too good...not yet, anyway.”
Leslie laughed softly, but Tom hadn’t exactly been joking. “You should probably know,” he said, his voice gruff, “I haven’t been with anyone since you left.”
Her smile faded. “You haven’t?”
“After my accident,” he explained, embarrassed, “I was in pretty bad shape. Lovemaking was the last thing on my mind.”
She trailed a finger across his chest, through the dusting of sandy hair. “And before the accident?”
“I was missing you.”
Her eyes were luminous in the lamplight when she looked up at him then. “I missed you, too,” she murmured. “And, Tom—there hasn’t been anyone else for me since the day I met you.”
Somehow he had known. Despite all the changes that had taken place in their lives since she’d moved away, the bond between them had remained unchanged. Still tentative, still undefined, still fragile—but still inarguably there.
It was as if they’d both been aware that they’d separated without closure. That they were not truly free to go on with their lives until they’d resolved whatever th
ey’d begun two years ago.
Memories of the time they’d spent together flashed through his mind as he kissed her again, deeply, slowly.
The day they’d met. Leslie had been standing in front of him in a long, slow-moving line at a bank. They’d started talking. By the time Leslie made her deposit, Tom had inveigled a first date.
Their first kiss. The first time they’d made love...six weeks after that first meeting. As clichéd as it sounded, Tom had known afterward that nothing would ever be quite the same for him. And nothing had been.
A day at the lake, when Leslie had stood poised on a rock just prior to diving in, sleek and pretty in her bright-red bathing suit, her wet auburn hair glinting in the sunlight. Tom had gazed at her and felt his chest ache in a way it never had. And he’d wondered if that was how it felt to be in love.
The day she’d left. The way she’d looked when she’d turned on her way out the door to look at him one last time, a wordless plea in her eyes, messages he didn’t quite understand passing between them. And all he’d said was, “See you.” And both of them had known he hadn’t believed it.
He tore his mouth from hers, remembering that painful day, the way he’d felt after she’d left. Losing his physical agility, his position in the fire department—those disappointments had been painful. But what he’d never wanted to admit—even to himself—was that losing Leslie had been even harder.
Could he go through it again without losing an important part of himself?
“Leslie—”
He didn’t know what he might have said. Whatever it was fled his mind when she slipped a hand around the back of his neck and lifted her face to his.
“Make love to me, Goose,” she whispered, her breath caressing his lips.
He groaned. Locking the warnings of his common sense into a mental closet, he tightened his arms around Leslie and dove mindlessly into her warmth and softness.
The baby woke them sometime during the night. Leslie had left both bedroom doors open so that she would be sure to hear Kenny if he cried out. She and Tom both jerked upright in response to the baby’s first demanding wail.
“I’ll get him,” Tom offered, sliding from the bed. “You think he wants a bottle?”
Leslie blinked and tried to clear her fuzzy mind. “Probably just a diaper change, but—”
“No problem. Go back to sleep.”
Clutching the sheets to her throat, she sank back into the pillows. She heard Tom moving around in the other room, talking softly to Kenny. She heard him laugh quietly at something Kenny did, and then the creak of the rocker-recliner in the den. She pictured Tom sitting there in the shadows with the baby in his lap, rocking the baby back to sleep, his strong hands warm and gentle.
His very talented hands, she added silently with a shiver of memory at the feelings those hands had recently evoked in her. Whatever lingering physical problems remained from Tom’s accident, none of them had affected his skill as a lover.
She closed her eyes and allowed herself to drift in satiated contentment, the sound of Tom’s murmurs and the rhythmic creak of the rocker lulling her back into sleep.
Nina Lowery awoke slowly Saturday morning. Her eyes fluttered and opened, squinting against the full sunlight streaming through the lacy curtains. She didn’t usually have the luxury of sleeping so late.
Hers was the bedroom of a woman who’d been living very comfortably alone. Lace at the windows and on the bed. Soft colors and dreamy paintings on the walls. A chintz-covered chaise lounge where she’d spent many hours with her books and cups of tea, enjoying the music from the high-quality compact stereo Tom had given her one Christmas and then installed in an entertainment cabinet in one corner of her bedroom, along with a small TV and VCR combination. A collection of porcelain figurines, most of them gifts from Tom during the years, were displayed on a corner curio unit.
The pair of men’s jeans thrown over the back of the lounge were a jarring contrast to the blatant femininity surrounding them.
Memory jarred her fully awake. The sound of running water from her bathroom made her wince and run a hand through her tumbled hair.
She quickly pushed thoughts of her son to the back of her mind. This was definitely not the time to think about Tom, she told herself.
“Stop worrying about him, Nina.”
Steve Pendleton stood in the doorway to her bathroom, frowning and wearing nothing but a pair of navy boxers and a thin gold chain on which hung a small gold cross. The chain and cross had been a gift from his late mother, he’d explained when Nina discovered it the night before. He always wore it.
She swallowed hard at the sight of him, and then frowned at his words. “Stop reading my mind.”
His mouth quirked into a faint smile. “It wasn’t your mind I was reading. It was that maternal-guilt expression on your face. I’ve learned to recognize it.”
Her face warming, Nina looked away from him.
“You’ve done nothing wrong, honey.”
“I know that,” she assured him hastily. “It’s just... well...”
“It’s just been much too long since you’ve given any thought to your own needs,” he cut in gently, his tone warm with understanding.
She shrugged. “Perhaps.”
“Definitely. As a matter of fact—”
He headed toward her, hips rolling in a sexy, sauntering gait that made her heart stop and then start again with an all-new tempo.
“Thinking of my needs, are you?” she asked, the light words belied by her husky tone.
“Actually, I was thinking of my own needs this time.”
She tossed aside the bedclothes and held out her arms. “Once again, you read my mind,” she purred as he came down to her.
Having gotten distracted and missed breakfast, Tom and Leslie were having an early lunch, when the telephone rang. Since Tom was holding Kenny in his lap as he ate, Leslie answered. She looked troubled when she returned to the table.
“Is anything wrong?” Tom asked, immediately concerned.
She shook her head. “Not exactly. That was your mother.”
He frowned, growing even more concerned. “What did she say?”
“She and Steve will be here in an hour.”
Tom frowned. “Oh.”
“She said Steve wants to visit Kenny.”
“And he thought my mother should be the one to set it up? He couldn’t just call us himself?”
Leslie looked at him uncertainly. “I, er, think he was there with her when she called. At her apartment.”
Tom glanced at his watch. “Pretty early for him to be visiting her, isn’t—” He stopped speaking suddenly. He almost felt the color leave his face. “Hell.”
“You don’t think—”
He drew a sharp breath and shrugged. “None of my business how long he’s been there, I guess.”
He said the words as much to convince himself as Leslie. He hoped she accepted them more easily than he did.
Looking thoughtful, Leslie bit her lip.
Kenny tugged at Tom’s shirt and babbled in a bid to reclaim his attention. Grateful for the distraction, Tom willingly complied.
It was just over an hour later when Nina and Steve arrived. Tom tensed when the doorbell rang, and it was the first time in his adult life he’d ever done so at the thought of seeing his mother. He hated that
Leslie hovered behind him when he opened the door. Her hands were twisted in front of her in that nervous gesture he knew so well.
Nina looked as nervous as Tom felt, though she made an effort to mask it with a bright smile that didn’t fool him for a minute.
“Hi, sweetheart,” she said, going up on tiptoes to kiss his cheek. “I brought you something.”
She pressed a covered dish into his hands.
“Chocolate pie?” he asked hopefully, his own grin feeling somewhat strained.
“Black forest cake,” she corrected him. “Still chocolaty enough to satisfy you, I think.”
“Come
on in. I’ll put this in the kitchen. Er, hey, Steve,” he added a bit awkwardly, uncertain what to say to the man who stood way too close to his mother.
“Hello, Tom.” Steve smiled easily enough as he spoke, but his eyes were guarded.
Nina swept past Tom to hug Leslie. “Leslie, dear, you look wonderful. I love that dark-green sweater on you.”
“Thank you. And you look beautiful, as always,” Leslie replied fondly. She, too, stiffened a bit when she turned to Steve. “Hello, Steve.”
“Leslie.” He didn’t seem to know whether to shake her hand or kiss her cheek. He settled for a smile and a nod, before he pulled a hand from behind his back to reveal a small, silver-wrapped gift box. “I brought you a wedding gift. I haven’t had an opportunity yet to congratulate you both on your marriage. I hope you’ll be very happy.”
Leslie’s gaze flew to Tom before returning to Steve. “That’s very nice of you. Thank you.”
“I’ll just set this in the kitchen,” Tom said, motioning with the cake dish. “Anyone want any coffee or anything?”
“I’ll help you,” Nina offered quickly, slipping her hand beneath his arm. “Leslie, you and Steve sit down and get comfortable. Tommy and I will serve the cake and coffee.”
“Is the baby sleeping?” Steve asked as he and Leslie moved toward the sitting area.
“Yes, he always takes a nap after lunch. He should be awake soon.”
Reassured that Leslie and Steve would probably spend the next few minutes discussing Kenny—amicably, he hoped—Tom braced himself for a talk with his mother in the kitchen.
He set the cake on the kitchen counter and opened a cabinet to pull out dessert plates. Leslie had already made a pot of coffee, so Nina assembled cups and saucers, sugar and creamer on a serving tray.
“You and Leslie seem to be getting along well,” she commented, glancing sideways at Tom.
He went warm as he thought of the preceding night. And this morning, for that matter. He and Leslie had certainly gotten along very well then. Surely his mother didn’t read him that well. “How can you tell that? You’ve been here only a couple of minutes.”