“I don’t have to support my parents, Lynne, but I’m careful to know their needs, and I check regularly and often to be sure they are comfortable. I’m prepared to take care of them, if that ever becomes necessary.”
In other words, she said to herself, any woman who takes me must accept my commitment to my parents. He wouldn’t be much of a man if he felt otherwise.
“I contribute to a boys’ club and volunteer there regularly,” he went on. “When I was a teenager, I could have benefited from the counsel of a wise man other than my father, a man who didn’t see me as a reflection of himself, and who appreciated that I had to fumble my way.”
She assimilated his words, concluding that she already knew him, that he was a man of compassion and honor, kind and generous.
“Why did you decide to divorce your husband? Is the decree final?”
“It’s legally final. During the year that we courted, Willard was not controlling and certainly not abusive—if he had been, I wouldn’t have married him. But within a month of our marriage, he became verbally abusive. Nothing I did, wore or cooked pleased him. He wouldn’t allow me to work or to have a cleaning woman, not to speak of a housekeeper, and he didn’t mind littering the house with his parishioners and expecting me to feed and serve them.
“If he was at home, I couldn’t even watch a tennis match on the television set, and he wouldn’t let me play or practice. Even when I begged, he said that part of my life was over. I couldn’t see how a man who had been warm, loving and full of smiles could have changed so drastically.”
“It was there, Lynne, but you somehow failed to detect it.”
“I’m sure you’re right. I married as a virgin, and I’ve regretted that. He is a cold man, and I learned it the hard way. One day I realized that I no longer loved him or cared for him, and probably never had loved him, that I had grown to dislike him. He didn’t want a divorce and fought it, but the judge believed me. No one could make up the tales I told. It’s over, Sloan, and if I’ve seemed skittish, I had good reason.”
Quiet for a time and with both hands cupping his knees, he half turned and looked at her. “I hope I never meet that man. I don’t believe in settling matters in a violent way, and he’d test my resolve, believe me.” And as if he had to touch her, but didn’t consider it prudent, he patted the back of her hand, unaware that the gentle touch sent tremors racing through her. “Since we’re speaking about intimate things, I’ve been wondering why you were married for six years and didn’t have any children. Was there a reason?”
She rested her head against the back of the sofa and closed her eyes. “Yes, there were reasons. We were...uh...intimate infrequently and, after the second year I decided not to have a child with him until our relationship improved. It got worse. He browbeat me about that and everything else.”
They talked until almost midnight. “Is he the reason why you’re working so hard to get back on top of your game?”
“No. I want to do it for myself. I was the best, on my way to robbing Williams of her crown. If I’m number one for one day only, I’ll be happy. I want the title, because I would have had it if I had played one more tournament. When I quit to marry Willard—and at his request—I was only eighty-nine points behind Williams.”
“You’ll get there. I have no doubt of it.”
They had talked for hours at a level that she had never managed to achieve with her husband. “Sloan, I can’t help wondering why a man who behaves as you do, looks as you do and is as successful as you are is single. I know I don’t understand Texas women, but the more I see of you and the better I get to know you, the less sense it makes.” She held his hand, hoping to tell him without words that whatever he said would be all right with her.
“I’ve taken my lumps from women, Lynne. From the one who, I discovered, considered me a grease monkey who could be toyed with, and from another, the one I cared about, who thought it natural for me to join her coterie of lovers and to do so without complaining. I didn’t know I was one of five until she forgot to lock her apartment door one evening when we had a date. I found her making it with the superintendent of the building in which she lived. It hurt. You can’t imagine how it hurt. After that, I had women friends, some of them lovers and some merely movie, dinner or opera partners, but I always let them know that neither marriage nor shacking up was on my mind. I have never misled a woman, and don’t intend to.
“The day after you and I played tennis together, I went to the woman who I’d spent the most time with and told her that I would not be seeing her again, that I’d met someone, and I wanted to begin the relationship with a clean slate. We had never been lovers, but I knew she wanted us to be more intimate, although I had discouraged that.”
Her lower lip dropped. “You were talking about me?”
“Oh, yes. I knew the day I met you that something good could happen between us.” He looked at his watch. “Good grief, it’s midnight, and you should have been resting in bed long ago. Sure you can get upstairs all right?”
She nodded, looking up at him standing before her big, strong and so masculine, his face wreathed in a smile that tore at her heart. “I’m sure.”
“May I come to see you tomorrow?”
She didn’t want him to leave her, but it wasn’t appropriate for him to stay. Her gaze locked on his full bottom lip, and a restlessness suffused her. What was wrong with her? She crossed her arms and rubbed her shoulders, unaware of its telltale meaning.
“May I?” he asked again.
He extended his hand, and with his touch a sweet and terrible hunger stirred in her. “If you want to,” she managed to say.
He tugged at her hand, encouraging her to stand, and when she looked into his eyes, their expression nearly unglued her. “I want to,” he said, “and I’ll call you first. Walk me to the door?”
After all they had shared, wasn’t he even going to... He stood at the door holding her hand, his back against the wall that faced the guest closet, and stared down at her. His eyes projected a simmering gleam, and when she moistened her lips with the tip of her tongue, that gleam became a raging storm.
Why didn’t he hold her, love her? She tried but couldn’t tear her gaze from his as his eyes possessed her.
“Sloan...I—”
“What is it?” The urgency in his voice bespoke the storm in his eyes.
“Nothing. I...” She gripped his right arm. “Can’t you...k...kiss me? Hold me?”
His eyes widened as he continued to stare down at her. “Do you know what you’re asking? I’ve spent the last eight hours struggling to keep my hands off you and—”
“I want you to hold me. I need to know how it feels to be in your arms.”
He sucked in his breath, and then she felt his hands on her, powerful and possessive as he wrapped her to him. His fingers sent fiery ripples spiraling down her arms as she stared into the dark desire of his mesmerizing eyes. Her right hand went to his nape, and he lifted her from the floor and let her feel his tongue plunge into her open, waiting mouth. At last she had him inside of her where he belonged.
With a hand on her buttock and the other at the back of her head, not even air could get between them as he tested every crevice, every centimeter of her mouth. Fire shot through her, and she thought that marbles fought for space in the pit of her belly. When she pulled his tongue deeper into her mouth and with her hands on his hips, pressed his body to her, contractions in her womb and a tightening in her vagina brought moans from her lips. He seemed to break the kiss, but she tightened her hold on him.
His moans echoed through the foyer, and she twisted against him until her nipples erected and she raised one leg, longing to have his bulk inside of her vagina. Without thought as to its effect upon him, she leaned into him, taking the loving that she had needed for so long. Maybe she should stop it, but she’d never had th
at feeling, and when the warm tightening became a swelling, she heard her own keening cry and undulated against him because she couldn’t help herself.
He stopped kissing her and gazed into her eyes, but she took no heed, grabbed his right hand and rubbed it across her left breast.
“Kiss me,” she moaned. “I need it. Kiss me.”
His hand lifted her T-shirt and pulled up her bra. Still gazing into her eyes, he stroked, teased and pinched her nipple.
“Honey, please.”
Abruptly he closed his warm, moist mouth over her nipple and suckled her.
“Oh. My Lord,” she cried aloud as the heat of desire spiraled through her. At last, trembling with the need to have him locked deep inside of her, she managed to stop herself and him.
“Sloan. Oh, Sloan. What have I done?” She rested her head against his chest and his arms went around her. “We can’t take this any further...it’s too soon for us, but I’ve been so lonely, so long, and you... You’re so sweet, and I’ve never responded to a man, not any man, this way.”
He kissed her cheek and stroked her back. “Thank you for telling me that. And you’re right...it is too soon, but it’s also not the right time for this, because you’re not up to snuff.”
“I’m not sorry, Sloan.”
“I certainly am not. You couldn’t kiss me that way if you didn’t care for me. You may think it’s too soon to care, but it only takes a minute. Remember that.”
She slipped her arms around him and hugged him as tightly as she could. “It’s a good thing I have long arms. You’re big. See you around noon.”
“Ten is better. You have to eat breakfast.” He kissed her nose. “Good night, sweetheart. Lock the door.”
She stood in the foyer shaking her head and marveling at what had just transpired. What would Sloan McNeil say if she told him that, in her lifetime, he had just given her her first physical urge to make love? Until then, desire had been in her head, never in her vagina. She turned out the light and plodded up the stairs. Seven or eight hours with Sloan McNeil were enough to convince her that she had never before been truly adored. But only time would tell what their being together meant to them.
Chapter 3
Sloan got into his car, drove a quarter of a mile from Lynne’s house and stopped; he hadn’t wanted to linger in front of her place, and he wasn’t fit to drive. Every atom in his body wanted him to turn that car around and go back to her.
He’d spent almost eight hours with her, wanting her, starving for her and not daring to touch her, for he had to teach her to trust him. And then she rocked him out of his senses. Warm, sweet and giving. And how she could give! She’d set him afire and hadn’t known how close he’d come to losing control. Loving. Pure loving. There was no other name for it. How could she have been married for six years and remained so innocent? Even before he tasted her sweet nipple, he should have been inside of her. A more experienced woman would have demanded it.
With his arms on the stirring wheel, he rested his head on them. She cared, but she had some strange notions that a certain amount of time had to elapse before she learned to care for a man. He had to go slow with her, but how could he if she heated him to the boiling point and let him know she wanted him as she did earlier? Hot. Passionate.
“My God,” he said aloud. “I could love that woman!”
He put the car in Drive and headed home. One thing was certain: he’d be there Monday afternoon at three o’clock to check on that monster of a trainer. Lynne didn’t know it yet, but she had equal priority with McNeil Motor Service, and he took care of his own. He parked in the garage that joined his beige, green-shuttered town house and walked around to the front door. Looking up at the full moon and the millions of stars surrounding it, he thought of the pleasure he’d get walking through a moonlit night with Lynne beside him. Did she entertain such notions about him? He hoped so.
Sunday morning at nine o’clock found him in the supermarket shopping for groceries for breakfast, lunch and dinner. He had never seen a refrigerator as empty as the one in Lynne’s kitchen, unless it was on display in a store. How could she expect to have energy if she ate like a rabbit?
When she opened the door after he rang enough times to become concerned, she looked as if she had barely awakened. Warm, sweet and...lovable. Just the way he liked a woman, sleepy, cuddly and pliable. Straighten out your head, buddy. Right now, she’s untouchable.
“Hi. I meant to get up early, but you can see I didn’t make it.”
He leaned down and kissed her cheek. “There was no need. I hope you’re hungry, because I eat a big breakfast, and I plan to cook a lot of food.” It pleased him that she ate heartily, devouring second helpings of the fruit, pancakes and sausage.
“I thought men were messy in the kitchen. How can you cook and keep the place so tidy?”
“Easily. I make as little mess as possible, because I’m not fond of cleaning up.” He hadn’t imagined what their day together would be like. Certainly he hadn’t envisaged them sitting outside on the deck surrounded by flowers, trees and birds, conversing leisurely or not talking at all. Comfortable and content with each other. Deeply touched by the serenity, he moved from the chaise on which he reclined, sat beside her and clasped her hand in his.
“Is this surreal to you, or are you feeling peaceful and happy as I am?”
For what seemed like ages, she didn’t reply. Then, she squeezed his hand. “I don’t know why, Sloan, and I am not trying to understand it, but this seems so right. I know my drive to become the world’s number one tennis player could derail our friendship. I hope not. But right now, I’m happy.”
He slid his right arm around her, and she laid her head on his chest. “Seems right to me, too,” he said, “and I don’t question it. Let’s spend as much time together as possible.”
When she took a deep breath and let it out slowly, he suspected that he wouldn’t like what came next. “Monday after next, I start practicing with my coach, and in all I’ll have two hours of training and four hours of tennis every day except Sunday.”
If that was going to be her excuse, he wasn’t buying it. “There are twenty-four hours in the day, Lynne, so let’s plan the time we’ll be together.”
She looked as if he’d disarmed her, and he hadn’t meant to, so he sought to appease her. “We can adjust it as need be, but I want to be able to look forward to the time I’ll be with you. If it’s a week, so be it. But at least at Saturday noon, I’ll know that you’ll be with me the next day.”
“Okay. Sundays—” she paused “—and evenings when I’m not half-dead.”
“Even then, we can be together for half an hour. I can bring a couple of cones of ice cream, and we can sit together somewhere and eat them.”
She frowned. It was ever so slight, but he caught it. “Are you asking for a commitment?”
He hadn’t expected that question, and he wasn’t sure he wanted to address it. “Not in a formal sense. I want to give this a chance to bloom, because I’m confident that it will.”
“All right. Sundays when I’m in town and any evening that suits us.”
“Isn’t that your doorbell?” he asked her. “I’ll see who it is.”
He opened the front door and looked down into the face of a petite and aged white woman who carried a pie with both hands.
“And who would you be?” she asked him. “Lynne doesn’t have a husband.”
A local busybody, huh? He grinned at her. “No, she doesn’t. Who would you be, ma’am?” he asked, mimicking her.
“I’m Thelma MacLendon, and I’m just paying my neighbor a visit. I hope you like pecan pie, because mine is the best in Bexar County, and I don’t like to think of it being wasted. Where’s Lynne?”
“Out back on the deck. Come with me.”
“Ms. MacLendon is here
to see you, Lynne,” he called to her as they neared the deck, “and she brought you something nice.”
Lynne stood to greet her neighbor. “You brought this for me? How nice of you. Thanks so much. Have a seat while I put it in the kitchen. Would you like some?”
“Thanks, but I left one at home. I won’t stay, since you’ve got this charmer here. At least you know how to pick a man. How’s your tennis coming along?”
“I haven’t started practicing yet. I’m working with a trainer to get into shape.”
“You mean that ugly little man who always wears black and drives that red sports car? I was worried at first thinking he was your man, but after the way he drove you in that hot sun the other day, I knew you had more sense than to hook up with him. Is he any good?”
“Supposed to be the best.”
“Well, at least he’s got something going for him. You come see me, now, and bring...” She let it hang.
“Oh, I’m so sorry, Thelma. This is Sloan McNeil.”
“How do you do, ma’am?”
“Fine for my age. Glad to meet you. Always did like tall men. You come see me now.” She headed back through the house, and he raced to see her out.
“Whew! Is she always like that?”
“Couldn’t say,” Lynne replied. “This is only the second time I’ve seen her. I like her.”
“I’m glad you have a good neighbor. I think I’ll make us hamburgers, and we can have pie for dessert. I can’t wait to get my teeth into it. I love pecan pie.”
McNeil's Match Page 5