Look What the Stork Brought (Man of the Month) Page 13

“Sure you can. What happened to her?” Joe asked, wiping his mouth on his sleeve. She couldn’t imagine another man doing that without looking like a real slob. On Joe, it looked sexy.

  On Joe, everything looked sexy. That was the trouble.

  “When I moved to the Dunwiddy Home for Children of Veterans of Foreign Wars, I had to leave her behind. They didn’t allow dogs. I made myself believe she got adopted, but she was probably taken to the pound.”

  “That explains today,” he said as the noise of the rain increased.

  Wordlessly she nodded. It wasn’t dogs on her mind now. Nor headaches, nor even rain-spattered windowsills.

  “I’ve always loved hearing rain on the roof after I’ve gone to bed.” The small revelation was accompanied by a determined lift of her chin. “I’ll probably sleep like a log now.”

  Leaning his hips against the counter, Joe met her gaze, his eyes saying things she wanted to believe and couldn’t afford to.

  “Yes, well...I’d better...”

  “Sophie, do you really want me to go back upstairs?”

  She lifted her shoulders and let them fall. Her fingers slid slowly back and forth on the hard, smooth surface of the tumbler.

  “I want to hold you.” His voice was low and raspy, but his meaning was unmistakable. “I want to do a lot more than hold you, but we both know that can’t happen.”

  Eleven

  It can’t happen, her mind echoed. And yet, Sophie thought, something was happening. Something momentous was happening as they stood there barefoot in her kitchen, cool, damp air flowing in through the window, stirring her gown against her naked skin—pressing his open shirt against his side.

  If he had touched her with his hands instead of his gaze, she couldn’t have felt it more intensely. She forgot to breathe. He didn’t. She could see the flutter of a pulse against his damp, bronzed throat—hear the rasp of his quickened breathing.

  “I’d like that,” she whispered. “For you to hold me—just for tonight.”

  “Just for tonight,” he repeated, something that sounded almost like regret coloring the words.

  With his arm at her waist, he led her down the hall to her bedroom. Sophie was glad she’d moved Iris back to the nursery. Just like a husband and wife, she thought. As if we’d been lovers forever. In a way, it seemed almost as if they had.

  In another way, she was more than ever aware of a feeling of enormous loss. Of a magic that had come so close—so close she could feel the warmth of it, see the glow—and then gone away, leaving her in the darkness.

  Just as they had before, he held open the covers and she slipped between the sheets. There was no question of undressing, but she couldn’t help but think, what if we did? What then?

  It was too soon.

  And far, far too late...

  Just as they had the last time, Sophie lay on her right side and Joe moved in behind her, fitting his body around hers. His arm came around her, his left hand closing over her wrist. She always slept on her side with one fist curled under her chin.

  Her hand covered his. She could feel his breath stirring in her hair. Breathing in the scent of his body, she recognized her own bayberry soap and something that was essentially male—essentially Joe. Something musky, spicy, unmistakably sexual in nature.

  Sophie was not widely experienced. There had been two men in her life—Rafe and the man she’d briefly been engaged to marry. Yet it was as if she’d never before lain with a man. As if Joe were a different species.

  “Are you asleep?” he whispered.

  “No, are you?” He wasn’t. She could tell. She could feel his arousal stirring against her hips. Feel the quickening of his breath and the heavy beat of his heart against her back.

  Instead of answering, he moved his hand until it closed over her breast. She uttered a sound like a soft, openmouthed groan, and he said, “Did I hurt you?”

  Beyond speech, she shook her head. His hand cupped her, his thumb stroked her, and she wondered wildly if it was only her rampaging hormones again—if she would’ve responded to any man who had touched her this way....

  She thought about how a man’s body could react to a woman’s body without even knowing who she was, whereas a woman did so with her heart long before she reacted with her body. But then that wasn’t entirely true, either. Neither her heart nor her body had ever responded so enthusiastically to any man. Every instinct she possessed told her they were meant to be together.

  Yes, and every shred of intellect told her it wasn’t going to happen. She had no business even thinking of such a thing at a time like this—yet she had never felt more sexually alive. According to the experts, brand-new mothers weren’t supposed to be interested in sex. Husbands traditionally complained because all wives thought about was their babies. Did that mean she was an unnatural mother? Oversexed? Desperate?

  Or did it just mean that Joe was here now, and she’d learned to make the most of today because her tomorrows had never been certain?

  She gasped his name as his fingers plucked ever so gently at her nipple. He stroked the sensitive tip with the open palm of his hand, sending currents of electricity to the very tips of her toes.

  His lips were nuzzling the side of her neck. When he said, “Mmm,” without ever lifting them, she felt that, too, and shivered as the heat of his hand burned through her thin cotton nightgown. He was hot, hard, aggressively aroused, and yet his touch was so gentle she felt like taking his hand in hers and moving it to where she ached the most.

  As if he could read her mind—read her body’s needs—he slid his hand slowly down over her waist and spread his fingers over her soft, newly flat belly—and then lower still.

  “You make me crazy,” he whispered.

  “I’m not supposed to be feeling this way,” she said helplessly.

  “How do you feel, Sophie? What do you want?”

  She gave a sob of laughter. “You must know. As for what I want...” Her voice tapered off as his hands began to work their magic.

  “Yeah—me, too. Crazy, isn’t it? None of this was supposed to happen.”

  She could feel him moving rhythmically against her, instinctively seeking the same release she so desperately needed. And it wasn’t going to happen.

  Unless...

  “Joe, do you think we could—”

  And then his hand began to move, too, his fingers tenderly exploring her, and she stiffened and then sighed and pressed herself into his touch. By the time he focused his attention on that one tiny pleasure point, she was so far beyond reason that it didn’t matter anymore that none of this should be happening. In a way she couldn’t put into words—wouldn’t dare, even if she could—it was right.

  All too soon she shattered under his tender assault.

  Shattered, cried out, and shed a few tears because it was over. And as wonderful as it was—for her, at least—she wanted more. Wanted him inside her, a part of her.

  “Sophie, Sophie,” he whispered, holding her tightly, stroking her back. Her gown was rucked up around her waist, and he lifted her and slipped it off over her head. “Let me hold you this way, darling, just for a little while, will you?”

  He was all but naked. She could feel him, smooth and hard and throbbing against her thighs, and with a small inarticulate cry, she reached down and took him in her hands.

  “You don’t have to—” he protested.

  “Please—let me?”

  And so she did. With her mouth, her hands and all the love that spilled from her swollen, aching heart, she brought him pleasure and peace and release....

  Afterward they lay in a damp, exhausted embrace, a tangle of arms and legs and rumpled sheets.

  Sophie knew he wasn’t sleeping. Neither was she. She wondered about tomorrow and the nights to follow—would he share her bed then, too? Wondered if he would be here long enough so that they could truly make love, and then told herself that it was love they had made tonight. In the only way they could, and without the words, but he had to
know. She’d never been very good at hiding her feelings, and she had never felt this way before.

  Never felt as though one man and one man alone had been created for her, somewhere in time and space.

  Only, why had he been created in Texas when her roots were here in North Carolina?

  The sun was already blazing through the window when Sophie opened her eyes the next time. She sat up and swung her legs over the side of the bed, hearing Iris’s fussing down the hall. Before she was even awake, her breasts had reacted to the sound.

  Joe muttered something in his sleep and then the phone rang.

  “Oh, darn these early-morning calls,” she grumbled, wondering where her nightgown had gone, hoping he wouldn’t see her stretch marks before she could find her housecoat. “Go back to sleep.”

  “I’ll get it,” he said, and he sat up, yawned and she saw that he had a few marks of his own. Scars, none of them new, but she hurt for him all the same. It occurred to her that the life of a policeman could be extremely hazardous.

  She found her robe and was pulling it on even as she hurried down the hall. “Whoever it is,” she said over her shoulder, “tell them I’ll call back later. If I don’t see to Iris right away, she’ll get upset and swallow too much air.”

  Just as if last night had never happened, she thought wonderingly as she lifted the fussy infant from the crib. If she’d needed a reality check, this would serve.

  She could hear Joe out in the hallway. “Joe, who is it?” she called softly through the door.

  He kept on talking. Oh, Lord, what if it was one of those awful people who had phoned before? The same ones—she was pretty sure of it now—who had broken into her house?

  But they were in jail, weren’t they?

  She thought she heard him hang up, but then he started talking again. “Joe?” she called just as he appeared in the nursery doorway.

  She could tell right away that something was wrong. He had pulled on his jeans, but they weren’t completely fastened. He was wearing neither boots nor shirt, and the look on his face told her that she wasn’t going to like his news.

  “I’ve got to go.”

  Sophie took a deep breath. “Well” was all she could think of to say. At least she managed to restrain herself from throwing her arms around his knees and begging him to stay here forever, to give up his family and all he’d left back in Texas and start life all over again here with her.

  Carefully she slipped two fingers around her nipple and eased it from the baby’s mouth, turning her so that she could nurse on the other side. She made no effort to hide herself. Under the circumstances, it would’ve been rather pointless.

  Joe stood as if nailed in place, staring at her. “Sophie, did you hear me? I have to go back home.”

  “I heard you. What can I do to help? I’ll be finished here in a few minutes, and then, as soon as I change her again, I’ll come help you get packed. What if I make you some sandwiches for the—”

  “You can drive me to the airport, if you will. If I can get there by eleven-twenty, I can catch a direct flight to Dallas-Fort Worth and be home by twelve forty-five, Texas time.”

  Joe could see the confusion in her eyes—those clear, gray eyes he’d come damn close to drowning in more times than he cared to remember. Still hadn’t quite made it to shore, come to that.

  But it would have to wait. “Miss Emma’s in the hospital. She fell and broke her hip, and at her age it doesn’t look too good. She’s been depressed ever since she had that stroke last winter. Look, I’ll tell you everything on the way to the airport. Right now I need to grab a shower and get packed.”

  The shower took four minutes. Packing took less than that. He cut himself twice shaving and cracked his bad knee on the bed frame trying to get his boots on without slowing down.

  They made the trip to the airport in her old gas guzzler because she didn’t want to tackle a stick shift for the return trip. Not with Iris on board. He could easily have left his truck in long-term parking, but he thought it might be a good idea to leave an extra set of wheels parked in a prominent place outside her house as an added security measure. He hadn’t had time to get done all he’d intended. Not the fence. Not the cell phone. The guard dog was a joke.

  He tried to answer her questions, but his mind was racing ahead in several directions. He was worried sick about Miss Emma. She’d been so damned close to giving up a time or two. This might just be the proverbial straw.

  And then there was Sophie. God, yes, there was Sophie! Seeing her in the nursery, her breasts bare, the baby cradled in the crook of her arm, with the morning light spilling through the window, creating a golden halo around her head, he’d wanted her so damn much it was all he could do to stay focused.

  He’d made coffee while she got dressed, and then he’d burned his tongue on the stuff. He’d walked out carrying Iris in her car seat while Sophie locked the door and hurried after him with his duffel. He’d forgotten the damned jade—the jade he’d driven more than a thousand miles to recover, and had to race back inside to get it, and she had laughed, but she’d looked more like crying.

  Over him or the jade? he wondered. It occurred to him that if it weren’t for a creep who’d made a career of fleecing lonely women and moving on, he’d have missed out on a vital experience. Might never have come east. Might never have met Sophie Bayard. Might never have known what it was like to be a father, even a surrogate father.

  “About last night—” he said, and then broke off. What could he say?

  “Don’t give it another thought. We were both...we both—”

  “Yeah.” He cut over from 158 toward I-40 East and said, “Look, one of these days, some smart man is going to ask you to marry him, Sophie. If he’s a decent sort and you respect him, think seriously about it, will you?” God, he could feel his gut twisting into a hard knot at the thought of another man’s touching her the way he had last night. Touching her in ways he hadn’t been able to.

  But he couldn’t bear to think of her growing old all alone. She was a warm, giving woman. She deserved a strong, dependable man at her side. So he made himself say it. “You need a man to look after you, and—”

  “Thank you very much, but I can look after myself.”

  “—and Iris needs to grow up knowing marriage doesn’t have to be a battlefield. That’s important to a child. Stability. Just make sure he’s the right one first, will you?”

  This time she didn’t argue. She simply nodded. He caught it from the corner of his eye and shot her a quick glance. She had that familiar look again—the rocky chin, the glittery eyes. He hadn’t seen it for a while, but it was back.

  They pulled up at the airport, and he remembered to give her the keys to his pickup. He told her to use it if her car broke down. Told her that he’d call tonight, and that once Miss Emma was on the mend, he’d fly east again to retrieve his truck.

  “By then, Miss Fatcheeks will be sitting up, and you’ll probably have a fancy job with all sorts of perks and benefits.”

  They both knew it was a lie. He’d be back before she was ready to go to work full-time because he needed his truck, but it was a way of putting distance between them. Emotional distance. The airline would do the rest.

  He opened the door, climbed out and then turned back to say goodbye to Iris. She gazed up at him solemnly from the back seat. He curled a colorless wisp of hair around his finger, then leaned down, kissed her on the cheek and whispered something Sophie couldn’t quite catch.

  I won’t cry, I won’t, I simply won’t! she vowed.

  “No need for you to go inside,” Joe said, retrieving his duffel and the shopping bag he’d stuffed the jade into. She looked so hurt, he had to take her in his arms. And then, right there by the parking meter, he gave in and kissed her the way he’d wanted to kiss her last night, but hadn’t.

  Hadn’t, because last night had been sexual. This wasn’t—at least not entirely. Hadn’t, because if he had he might have made promises he was in
no position to keep. His brain had been functioning to that extent, at least. After all these years his survival skills were honed to a fine edge.

  With the taste of her still on his tongue, he walked away. From the queue at the ticket counter, he glanced over his shoulder a few times, half hoping she would come inside anyway, but she didn’t. She’d taken him at his word.

  Just as well, he told himself, and then said, “One-way, Dallas—Fort Worth, first-class if you have it, two carry-ons.”

  It was eleven twenty-five that night when Joe called. Sophie, who had given up and gone to bed at eleven, nearly broke her neck getting to the phone. She vowed then and there to have phones put into every room in the house, either that or get herself that cell phone Joe had tried to talk her into buying. He’d insisted she needed to upgrade her communications system, just as he’d pressed her to have a fancy burglar alarm, new locks on the doors and windows, a guard dog and a chain-link fence.

  None of which would have prevented him from walking in, stealing her heart and then walking away again.

  She shoved Lady aside with her foot and lifted the receiver. “Hello?” she said cautiously, hoping against hope.

  “I forgot about the time difference. Did I wake your?”

  And so they talked. Joe told her about Miss Emma’s condition, and how long she’d be in the hospital, and what arrangements he was making so that once she came home she could get around.

  He told her about Daisy’s prospective new husband, a widower with two boys under ten, and what odds he gave the match, and laughed a little bitterly, Sophie thought.

  And then he asked how Iris was, and she told him. How the dog was, and she admitted that Lady was sleeping on a blanket in the kitchen, but mostly, she was underfoot.

  “Don’t trip on her,” Joe said, and they were both aware that they were talking all around the subject neither of them dared mention.

  “Look, I’ll call earlier tomorrow night, okay?” he said, and she told him he really didn’t need to call.

  There was a long silence, and when he spoke again, his voice sounded uncertain. Unlike the Joe who had struck her, right from the first, as confident to the point of arrogance, but in a nice way. A man who knew who he was and was comfortable with it, whatever the world thought of him.