Wintergreen
Page 17
Her fingers fumbled for the phone beside the bed, her eyes never leaving his.
Desperately, she strove for some sanity as she spoke into the phone. “Mr. Whitaker?”
Her whole body stiffened, hands raking rapidly through her hair as she tried to listen. Matthew wasn’t helping matters. And she knew he’d heard her speak his father’s name.
“Chicken pox! But I thought Mr. Rudowsky…”
Mr. Rudowsky was a very capable, kindly, grandfatherly man whom Johnny had taken to instantly. He also wasn’t really sure that Lorna needed to be called. He had decided that Mr. Whitaker should make the decision; the number for Richard Whitaker, Sr., had been one of the emergency phone numbers on the list Matthew had given Mr. Rudowsky. Mr. Whitaker had made the decision. Johnny was now at his house, with nurses around the clock. His temperature at the moment was ninety-nine. His doctor had been called and another physician had been consulted for a second opinion.
“Mr. Whitaker-”
Mr. Whitaker was disgusted with the entire medical profession. Johnny itched. There must be something they could do. In the meantime, he refused to stay in bed. In fact, he was right by the phone and wanted to talk to her now.
“Hey, Mom? Mr. Whitaker moved the electric train up to the hall here. Listen, I don’t know what all this fuss is about. I don’t feel bad. Did you know Mr. Whitaker could play chess? I already beat him once. He says I have a computer mind. Are you having a good time?”
“I…”
Matthew had the most devilish gleam in his eyes. Suddenly, his hands were seductively caressing her breasts. She tried to bat him away with one hand, while holding the phone with the other. She was fighting a losing battle.
“Listen, Lorna!” Mr. Whitaker was on the line again.
Matthew’s leg pinned hers. His chest just teased the hardened tips of her breasts as he grabbed the phone. “Dad? Give me Johnny.” That was evidently accomplished. “Johnny, if you want or need us at home, we’ll be on the next plane.”
Lorna watched Matthew’s face for a long time. But then, it was a long time before he hung up the phone. When he did, he settled over her, his eyes filled with laughter, her body filled with his, and her heart just as full of loving and concern as his was.
“Your son,” he said softly, “has chicken pox. A very light case.”
She knew that. She kissed the hollow in his shoulder.
“My father is beside himself.”
She knew that, too. Her fingers chased themselves down his back, and played a blues rhythm on his hips.
“I’m sorry, Misha, but he doesn’t want you home. He’s got three adults waiting on him hand and foot. A TV in his room. The train. Chess players. He’s got my father writing to someone he knows on the Supreme Court, something to do with whales. He’s going to be perfectly unmanageable when we get back, Misha…”
“Your father,” she suddenly said seriously.
“I told you he would come around. Didn’t you trust me?”
She trusted him. Her heart soared with trusting him. They would have been home in hours if Johnny had needed either of them. She trusted that Matthew could decide that issue as well as if not better than she could. Johnny and his grandfather were perfectly capable of working out a few problems on their own.
She had her own to handle.
Her own had a shock of dark hair and snapping black eyes. Russian hands and Roman fingers. But then, the intricacies of language had always been her specialty.
About the Author
Jennifer sold her first book in 1980, and since then she has sold more than eighty books in the contemporary romance genre. Her first professional writing award came from RWA-a Silver Medallion in l984-followed by more than twenty nominations and awards, including being honored in RWA’s Hall of Fame and presented with the RWA Nora Roberts Lifetime Achievement Award. Jennifer has been on numerous bestseller lists, has written for Harlequin Books, Avon, Berkley and Dell, and has sold over the world in more than twenty languages. She has written under a number of pseudonyms, most recognizably Jennifer Greene, but also Jeanne Grant and Jessica Massey.
She was born in Michigan, started writing in high school, and graduated from Michigan State University with a degree in English and psychology. The university honored her with their “Lantern Night Award,” a tradition developed to honor fifty outstanding women graduates each year. Exploring issues and concerns for women today is what first motivated her to write, and she has long been an enthusiastic and active supporter of women’s fiction, which she believes is an “unbeatable way to reach out and support other women.” Jennifer lives in the country around Benton Harbor, Michigan, with her husband, Lar.
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