One More Chance

by Ruth Jean Dale

  "You know," she said conversationally, rolling over to crouch between his parted thighs, "I'd be interested to know where you got that condom, since the ones I bought are still in my purse which is still in my car." She ripped open a little foil packet and fumbled for the contents.

  "Actually—" He swallowed hard and his body rocked convulsively. He seemed to choke on the words. "As soon as you left, I made a little trip to town myself."

  Her hand tightened dangerously over the shaft of flesh and she leaned down until her lips touched his corded belly. "You were that sure of me?"

  "I was sure—" he gasped "—that if you didn't come back, I'd go get you."

  And then he did just that.

  Later, the night chill sent them trooping down the ladder and into the house. Laughing, touching, they carried with them such items of clothing as they found in the dark—a shoe, a pair of Levi's, a bra.

  Dizzy with happiness, Juliana drifted naked through the silvery moon-washed night. As if in a dream, she held out her hand to Ben and he took it, his touch warm and real.

  "I wish I could tell you how I feel," he blurted, his naturally gravelly voice even more hoarse than usual.

  "You do. Oh, you do." Holding his hand, she spiraled toward him, laughing, wrapping his arm around her as she moved. Their naked bodies met and he held her tight and kissed her—a long, intoxicating exploration.

  They entered the house through the kitchen door, stumbling around in the dark, laughing, whispering, holding each other. It took a long time to make it as far as the bedroom, but she, drunk with pleasure, minded not at all.

  Once in his room, he switched on the light and scooped her up into his arms. Dropping her onto the bed, he grinned down at her—the grin fading into a concerned frown. He knelt beside the bed and with one forefinger, traced the purple-pink scar on her stomach.

  "Does it hurt?" he asked.

  "No." She lay still, letting him examine the scar. "I don't even remember when they did it, only what I was told later."

  "I remember." He shuddered and a muscle leaped in his jaw. His hand curved over the scar, covering it. "I thought you were going to die."

  "But I didn't. Thanks to you, I didn't."

  He closed his eyes, but not before she saw the pain and uncertainty in them. Tears stung her own eyes and she blinked away the moisture. She had difficulty keeping her voice steady enough to speak. "Thanks to you, my entire life has changed. Being here like this is… is a dream." She reached up to cup his face with her hands. "A dream I didn't even know I had—I guess all along I wanted you and not a cigarette."

  He growled deep in his throat. "Kind'a blows you away to think about it, doesn't it."

  "Umm."

  He slid one hand down her flat belly to tangle in the thicket of hair at the juncture of her thighs. She caught her breath in a hiss. "Stop that, Ben. I've got to get up and go home. You're not making it easy."

  He coaxed her with rhythmic movements of his hand. "You don't want to go home and I'm not interested in making it easy."

  "Of course, I don't want to go home but—" She felt the delicacy of his touch where she most wanted it and choked.

  "Then again, maybe you're right." Slowly… reluctantly…teasingly he slid his hand away, over her belly, up to cover a breast. "It must be 2:00 or 3:00 a.m. already and one of us has to go to work tomorrow."

  "What are you talking about?" With her hands she urged him up and into the bed with her, wrapping her arms and legs around him. "I don't…" Only she did. Dismayed, she remembered the Burtons and groaned. "Wait a minute. That was Opal's idea. I never agreed to anything."

  "But you will."

  He slipped his hand back into the notch between her thighs and stroked up, moving his fingers higher and deeper. Her muscles began to tremble and she closed her eyes.

  "I guess you're right." Her voice faded as tension mounted. At the first blunt probing of his finger, her concentration splintered entirely and a long drawn-out "ahh" escaped her taut throat.

  She didn't want to think about tomorrow. Tomorrow would bring reality crashing back around her ears, whatever that reality might be. But for once, she found herself willing—no, eager—to take a chance.

  He eased a finger inside and she rose to meet his hand, moving slowly, languorously, his mastery causing undulating waves to ripple clear to the soles of her feet. He caught her nipple lightly between his teeth and tugged, gently insistent. Ecstatic, she arched her back.

  He rolled over her, his knees sliding between her thighs, his breathing heavy. She trembled beneath him, hot and slick and eager to receive him. Eager to be his.

  Suddenly emotion welled up in her chest, choking her. She had never felt so close to another human being, not even her husband. Not even in the first days of their marriage when she swore she'd love him forever.

  Ben lowered himself slowly, probing, and she took him in, drew him in gladly, her hips surging to meet his.

  "Ben—" She gasped as he reached full penetration and sank against her with an explosive sigh.

  He groaned, his face pressed against her throat. "You want to talk now!"

  "N-no." She swallowed hard and began to undulate her hips, creating a sweet friction. "I… I just wanted to say that...maybe…"

  He raised up on his elbows, jamming his hips down against hers, filling her perfectly and completely. "Could you talk a little faster? I'm about to go out of my mind, here."

  "I think… I think I love you." She stared at him, horrified, afraid he'd laugh, or worse—only what could be worse?

  He wasn't laughing. His eyes narrowed and he glared down at her, even as his rigid flesh stirred to new life inside her.

  "You don't think you love me," he rasped out, beginning a rhythmic advance and retreat. "You damned well know you love me. Otherwise you wouldn't be here…" He jammed into her almost violently and she felt the delicious shivers begin deep inside, where their bodies joined. "Doing this…" Another thrust, deep and swift and sure. "With me!"

  He shuddered and she felt the spasm overtake him and radiate out into her own body, hotter and brighter than anything she had ever known. As the most exquisite convulsions carried her away, she knew it was true.

  She did love him—oh, she loved him!

  9

  Juliana awoke to a brand new world, a world brimming with promise. If she could still feel this way in the sober light of day, then anything was possible, she told herself as she shared morning coffee with Ben. She didn't want to eat; she just wanted to look, to touch, to be with him.

  But of course, she couldn't. She couldn't afford to surrender her independence. She'd pull back for a couple of days, then reassess the situation.

  "Will I see you tonight?" he asked as she prepared to leave.

  She looked at him, at the hard handsome face and the body that delivered on all its promises, and she wanted to say yes. Instead she hedged. "I'm not sure. It depends on how things go in the office, and with Paige."

  "Hmm," he said. "A definite maybe."

  She wished he'd been more upset by her lack of decisiveness, but he just shrugged.

  She drove home, showered, dressed in a business suit and headed out again. She had one stop to make before meeting the Burtons.

  The tantalizing aroma of tomatoes and garlic and cheese surrounded her with a new intensity as she walked into Senor Pizza. It seemed as if everything in her life had become more intense, more real. She felt like a kid—a teenager in love. Only, when she'd actually been a teenager in love, it was a pale imitation of this.

  She spotted Pete behind the counter, tossing a circle of pizza dough into the air and catching it on an extended fist. Gradually he spun it larger and larger. Several young employees worked beside him, loading meat and vegetables and cheese onto the dough and shoving pizzas into the revolving oven.

  Pete looked surprised to see her there. While he stared, the circle of dough sailed past his extended fist and plopped onto the wooden work table.

 
He dismissed the lump of dough without so much as a glance and walked toward the counter. "What's with you?" he demanded suspiciously. "You look like the cat that got the cream."

  She laughed, because that's just how she felt—and not because of the makeup or the new clothes or the wig, rescued from the grass outside Ben's kitchen door.

  "Thanks. I think." She dropped her glance, fighting the silly smile tugging at the corners of her mouth.

  "Hell of a turnaround since I left you last night." He cocked his head to one side, his eyes narrowing.

  A young employee tried to edge past the boss to reach the cash register. "Excuse me, Pete."

  Pete stepped aside and nodded at Juliana. "Is it safe to assume you didn't drop by for lunch?"

  "Good guess."

  "In that case, come on back to the office."

  He led her through the storeroom and on to the curtained cubbyhole that served as the nerve center of his pizza operation. He waved her toward the only chair but she shook her head.

  "I'm not staying. I just came to give you this." She opened her purse and took out a check. "Call it a loan, call it a gift, whatever you like."

  Pete took the check slowly. He looked at the slip of paper, blinked and looked again. "Ten thousand dollars?" He sounded as if he doubted his eyesight.

  She shifted uncomfortably. "That's the amount you need, isn't it?"

  "Yes."

  That familiar feeling of missing the obvious settled over her. "Then what's the matter?"

  His lips tightened. "You already turned me down once. I've never known you to change your mind after it's made up. What's going on, Juliana?"

  Honesty was difficult. "I don't remember, Pete. When did we talk about it?"

  "The day you got sick—actually, just before it happened. At Ben's." His eyes widened with sudden understanding and he struck himself on the forehead with an open palm. "I get it. You don't remember because of the aneurysm."

  She nodded. "There's a lot I've forgotten."

  "In this case, I can only be glad. Unless you want to take it back, now that you know?" He looked hungrily at the check.

  "The money's yours, Pete. I owe you that and more."

  He let out a long, low whistle. "You really have changed." He grinned. "I don't know how I'll ever thank you, honey."

  He hadn't called her "honey" in a long, long time. Her eyes burned and she swallowed back the lump in her throat, flustered but strangely gratified. Impulsively she reached out and squeezed his hand. "Don't worry, I'll think of something," she said, trying to cover her embarrassment. "I just hope this will make a difference for you."

  "And how." He folded the check and tucked it into his chest pocket. He took her arm and guided her out of the office. "I don't know what happened to you last night but—wait a minute."

  He stopped in the middle of the store room, between boxes of napkins and giant cans of black olives. "Maybe I do know."

  She blushed. She felt it, an actual blush. He took one look at the red tide rising over her cheeks and burst out laughing. She bit her lip and looked away.

  "You and Ben," he said, his tone heavy with amazement. "Damn, who'd have thought it?"

  She started to deny everything, but caught herself in time. She had nothing to be ashamed of. "Do you think I've lost my mind?" she asked with a wry laugh.

  "You? No. Ben? Maybe." He shook his head wonderingly.

  "Then you really don't mind—your ex-wife and your friend?"

  "Why should I? Did you mind when I married Sandra?"

  "I was glad," she admitted. "It made me feel a little less guilty."

  "Wow, you really are a new woman." They turned back toward the doorway and he put an arm around her shoulder, the way he used to do before things went bad. "This is the first time I've heard you accept even a shred of responsibility for what happened to us."

  They halted at the outer door. She didn't want to meet his level gaze, but she forced herself to do so. Whatever he said to her, she owed it to him to listen.

  But being Pete, good old easy-going Pete, he just smiled. "Good luck, Juliana," he said simply. "Ben's a great guy, but he's already been through a lot. You could do him some real damage if you're not careful."

  Well, what about me? she thought. I'm not made of iron. "That sword cuts two ways, Pete."

  He seemed to consider for a moment. He grinned. "Naw, not you," he scoffed. He shook his head decisively and opened the door for her.

  She left feeling considerably less optimistic than when she'd arrived.

  She walked in on a party in progress at the Summerhill Real Estate Company. Nothing wild, just a half-dozen people clustered around a cake, laughing and passing around paper plates and plastic forks.

  Stella saw Juliana first. "Hey, everybody, the boss is back!"

  The conversational buzz halted mid-syllable and all eyes turned toward Juliana. Good grief, what do they expect me to do? Clear the office because they're eating cake? she wondered. That's what it looked like; expressions ranged from cautious to dismayed.

  "Please," she said with a wave of her hand, "don't let me disturb the party. What's the occasion?"

  An almost audible sigh of relief greeted her inquiry and everyone seemed to relax at least a degree.

  "Charlie got married last weekend in Las Vegas." Stella indicated the middle-aged man in a checkered jacket.

  It took Juliana a minute to even recognize Charlie Gresham. Then she did, but couldn't remember for the life of her when he'd become associated with Summerhill Realty. Nevertheless, she smiled and accepted the hand he thrust toward her. "Congratulations," she said.

  Stella picked up the cake knife. "He brought in the cake to celebrate."

  Charlie snickered. "And because the new Mrs. Gresham is Monica Martin of the Bread 'n' Stuff Bakery Martins."

  He puffed out his chest importantly. "About all this—" A wave of his arm indicated the party fixings. "They tell me you don't like this kind of thing in the office, but I figured it'd be okay for a special occasion."

  And you also figured I'd never know about it, Juliana thought. She smiled. "I don't want this office to turn into Disneyland South, but anything short of that is fine with me. I've decided it's time to stop and smell the roses." She winked at Stella, who stared with mouth agape. "And it's also time to stop and eat a piece of wedding cake."

  Amidst spontaneous applause, Stella presented Juliana with an enormous chunk of cake topped by a profusion of pastel roses. After a few bites, she excused herself and carried her briefcase into her office.

  Stella followed. "Sorry about that, but Charlie's not an easy man to stop. Why didn't you tell me you were coming?" She lifted a forkful of cake to her mouth.

  "It was sort of a last minute decision." True. A decision made after a night with Ben Ware. There was damned little Juliana would—or could—refuse him. Her satisfied smile slipped at the sight of paper overflowing her "in" basket. "Actually, I have an appointment in a few minutes. Opal Rudnick arranged it—a couple named Burton."

  "Juliana!"

  Juliana's head snapped around at her secretary's tone of alarm.

  Stella rolled the now-empty paper plate into a cylinder. "The Burtons, Helen and Rodney?"

  "That's right. What's the matter, Stella?"

  Stella groaned. "The Burtons have been through every real-estate office in this town. No one can please them— no one can help them. Why, they even sued Tom Shanks."

  Try as she might, Juliana couldn't conjure up any recollection of the Burtons. Her stomach clenched—just what she needed on her first day back. "This lawsuit… I guess that came up while I was in the hospital?"

  Stella started to speak, then stopped abruptly. Her expression softened. "You really don't remember, do you? It happened almost a year ago, but never mind that. We'll just get you out of it. I'll ask John to handle them."

  "No, Stella." Juliana took a determined breath. "I'll handle the Burtons."

  Stella frowned. "Why on earth put yourself
through that grief?"

  Because I promised the man I love, Juliana reminded herself. But what she said was, "Somebody's got to do it. Why not me?"

  Rodney Burton banged his cane down on the floor, his bushy white eyebrows drawing together above dark, hawkish eyes that denied his advanced years. "Balderdash, young woman! Balderdash! That's what I said to Mrs Cloyd Rudnick when she told me she had arranged this meeting."

  Helen Burton fluttered at her husband's side, tugging at his elbow with an ineffectual hand. He towered above her matronly five-foot frame, although he couldn't be much taller than Juliana, if any.

  "Rodney, be calm, dear. You know what the doctor said." Mrs. Burton shot an apologetic glance at Juliana.

  Rodney, his thin figure erect as a toy soldier's, banged the cane against the leg of a chair. "That quack!"

  Juliana tried not to let her dismay show. The Burtons looked to be in their eighties, and although both appeared in possession of their faculties, Mr. Burton gave new meaning to the word irascible.

  "Will you have a seat, Mr. and Mrs. Burton? Mrs. Rudnick didn't tell me much about your situation, so perhaps you could fill me in." The telephone rang. "If you'll just excuse me for a moment—"

  Mr. Burton banged his cane against a waste-paper basket and glared at his wife. "I don't have to come here to be insulted," he boomed.

  Absolutely certain that was true, Juliana gave them an apologetic smile and picked up the receiver. "Stella, I thought I asked you not to disturb us?"

  "You did, but this is an emergency. Barbara Snell's on the other line. She's been trying to reach you since yesterday. Says it's important."

  "Ask her to come on over. I'll be with her just as soon as I finish with Mr. and Mrs. Burton."

  "Or as soon as they finish you," Stella muttered.

  "Right." Juliana hung up the receiver and smiled cautiously at the couple seated before the desk. "Now, if you'll tell me your problem, we'll see if I can help you."

  "By gad, madam, your veracity is at stake here." Mr. Burton whipped the tip of his cane against the desk with lightninglike speed. The burled wooden staff shattered with a sharp crack and all three jumped, then stared at the jagged edges.