A Daring Proposition (12 page)

His hand crept up from her waist and cupped a breast. The creamy globe was tender; her breasts had been sensitive for some time now, swelling with the knowledge of the child within her, but under his palms the nipples became as hard as pebbles. Her skin felt strangely warm wherever he touched; his touch was as firm as it was gentle, and so loving that she felt oddly, frighteningly weak.

“I have no intention of making love to you, Leigh,” he whispered. “Not here, not now. I like complete privacy for real lovemaking.”

She breathed a little, closing her eyes. He murmured something approving when a little of the tension left her, and cradled her closer yet to his chest. He was so warm, and his palms stroked more warmth down the still curve of her hip and up to the small contour of her stomach. His palm rested for a moment between her breasts, willing her heartbeat to still its pounding, then moved up to the sensitive hollow of her throat. The sensations were terrible: the fear threatening to make her physically ill; and a wanting, newly born, fragile but far stronger than she could understand. She ached inside, suddenly and desperately. It struck her that there was still a chance—that if she turned to him Brian might…be able to make her forget about David, and she could almost imagine losing herself in that gentle, sensual world of his touch. But there was a greater chance that she couldn’t, that she would merely open a Pandora’s box and find herself incapable of responding, numb, frozen, as she had been with Peter. And she suddenly understood how very little Peter had ever meant to her in comparison. Not for Brian, an ice maiden; never could she risk that.

The rap on the door was startling, like a shower turned cold.

“Leigh? Brian?” Mrs. Hathaway rapped again and then opened the door. “I thought I heard the sound of voices. Merry Christmas, you two. It’s time you were up. I’ve got breakfast on the stove.”

She closed the door again and Leigh turned over to stare into Brian’s dark eyes, which were dilated still, midnight-black. “Merry Christmas,” he echoed, and dipped his head for a very quick and passionless kiss on her nose. “Your heart’s going at the same rate mine is,” he whispered teasingly. “Tell me about indifference, Red. Tell me how you feel nothing.”

“Brian—”

He bounded out of bed to the bathroom. “Sorry, Leigh, but the subject’s been tabled, not closed.”

He left the bathroom door more than half open as he took a quick shower, with a thorough lack of modesty that appalled Leigh. It was as if, on the sheer arrogance of a whim, Brian had decided to change everything and so he was doing it all at once. She leapt from the bed, deciding to forgo bathroom privileges until later, and quickly put on underwear and then a winter-white angora skirt and sweater that were as soft as they were festive. Not too formal for a day that would include playing with children.

Brian had finished his shower and was standing in the doorway to watch as she straightened the bed. There was only a towel slung carelessly around his waist, and his face had a full white beard of shaving cream. The hairs on his chest still glistened from the water in the shower, and the smooth slope of his shoulders was a reminder of the physical strength inherent in his long, lean body. She hurried to bring the covers into some kind of order.

“You know,” he said conversationally, “for someone so indifferent to ‘matters of the flesh,’ Red, you shocked the hell out of me when I undressed you last night. You really think that little bit of powder-blue lace has any support to it?”

“Stop it,” she hissed, a dark flush staining her cheeks. She couldn’t find her shoes; there were so many suitcases and such a jumbled disorder of wrapped packages for the children. And she had to find the present for his mother.

“I was even a little worried—you’ve got such a tiny little curve of a stomach that it was almost impossible to believe you were pregnant. The whole package is still bikini material, Red, and when I think of how you had me totally fooled when I first met you—”

She didn’t have the nerve to slam the door on the way out, for fear Mrs. Hathaway would hear the sound.

Leigh felt as though she had finally stepped off a roller coaster when the door was closed behind her. It was all so simple, really. It was Christmas and nothing should be allowed to happen that would mar the holiday, if only because there were other people involved. And Brian… Perhaps it was just an insane moment. Perhaps if she just ignored what had happened—or maybe she could talk to Mrs. Hathaway. There must be some other place to sleep. A couch—she could say that she was sleeping poorly because of the pregnancy, that Brian’s tossing and turning disturbed her.

But Leigh did nothing of the kind. Mrs. Hathaway teased her over the breakfast table about how absolutely soundly she had slept curled next to Brian the evening before, and not even the comings and goings of twelve people had stirred her. Brian’s mother looked absolutely stunning in a cherry-red dress that set off her white hair; she looked like Christmas itself, with a sprig of holly pinned on her collar. “I’m sorry for all the confusion yesterday, Leigh. I wanted so much to have some time with you, just ourselves, to get to know one another, but it’s impossible with the holidays. I know Brian said he had to leave tomorrow, but couldn’t
you
just stay a little longer?”

Brian arrived just then to help himself to enough bacon and eggs and fried potatoes to bring a smile of satisfaction from his mother. “She can’t, Mom,” he said definitely. “For one thing, I don’t want her flying back alone in her condition. And the airports are a mess this time of year. I don’t want her stuck standing around for hours at a stretch.”

“Well, then,” Mrs. Hathaway answered, her brown eyes darting back and forth between the two of them, “what I’d like, Leigh, if it’s all right with you, is to come when you have the baby and you need some help.”

“I’d love that,” Leigh answered warmly. Nevertheless, she thought uneasily of having to share a room with Brian for the duration of his mother’s visit. At least she could make sure they had separate beds.

After church they drove to Gerald’s in the station wagon, the backseat laden with packages. The doors to the big frame farmhouse opened at their arrival, and a host of welcoming children and adults poured out. A horde of dogs seemed to descend on Leigh as she got out of the car, barely letting her pass as they crowded around her legs. Her arms were as full of presents as Brian’s and his mother’s.

The presents were pounced on first, because the children simply couldn’t wait, regardless of all the mothers clucking behind them. Mrs. Hathaway chuckled as the area under the tree became cluttered with piles of wrapping paper, boxes and ribbons. “I like a big spread under the tree,” she admitted frankly. “I used to individually wrap practically every crayon, just so they’d all have dozens of things to open!”

The mothers scolded Leigh for going to so much trouble over the children’s presents, but the children were delighted with these unexpected packages to open—and delighted with their new aunt, who didn’t hesitate to sit in the middle of the mess with them, who didn’t mind if her soft angora sweater was fingered even if the fingers were slightly sticky. She was not opposed to ribbons being stuck in her hair, and she knew enough to throw a bit of zinc from Barry Junior’s new chemistry set on the fire to magically turn the flames green and blue.

Finally, after the children’s packages were opened, examined, discussed and played with, Brian distributed the adult’s presents. Leigh had exchanged hugs and kisses with Brian’s three brothers and sisters-in-law, had responded to and handed back compliments on dress, and had been teased about the ease with which she was fitting in with the children. Yet through it all her awareness was intensely focused on Brian, as if he were the only one in the room.

She had already seen him forbiddingly distant, occasionally humorous, elegant and charming when it suited him, many times impatient, exasperatingly arrogant and domineering—and he was a blend of all of that with his family—but now she was beginning to see that even with them he could not be completely himself. In two short hours, Leigh had heard snatches of conversation directed at Brian: Richard, explaining why he didn’t want an expensive medical practice and the troubles he was having with Julie about it; Barry, seeking approval for a job change he had made; Gerald, with money troubles on the farm and an expansion he wasn’t sure of; and even Jane asked if one o’clock would suit Brian for the family dinner.

She felt proud that his family so obviously respected and needed him. But she could also see, too clearly, what was behind his resistance to the image of home, family and clinging ties. She could even see why he might have sold his soul for a marriage of convenience. His business was draining enough; his bachelor social life had put another series of demands on him; and his mother and brothers made others. To look at him, one would never know he minded, but Leigh could sense his resentment. He gave and gave and gave; why couldn’t anyone just ask him how
he
was, whether he had any problems he needed to talk over?

Ruth settled in the chair behind Leigh and bent over to whisper in her ear. “Stop staring, darling. Though he is the handsomest of the four, isn’t he?”

Embarrassed to be caught staring at her own husband, Leigh gave her mother-in-law a bashful smile.

“I worried about him a long time,” Ruth continued in a half whisper. “He isn’t an easy man to love, because he fights it so. It’s always been easy for him to take responsibility, but he has trouble dealing with the softer emotions. He had it hard, when his father died, and it was up to him.”

Leigh glanced at her mother-in-law and then away. It was true that he resisted any attention coming his way. It was all right for Brian to dose out consideration when it suited him, but all Leigh had to do was reveal the slightest bit of concern for his welfare and he clammed up, granite-faced. She had assumed he simply didn’t feel the “softer” emotions; they were two of a kind, he had said.

“Come on, Red, open up.” Presents replaced the wriggling child in her lap, and Brian slid down next to her, his long legs struggling to find space between the jumble of toys strewn everywhere. Even inches apart, she could feel the electricity between them, an unwilling current that refused to shut itself off. She was beginning to feel as vulnerable as dew whenever he was close—hopeless, helpless and strangely intoxicated. She blinked back the sensations.

“You open first,” she insisted. She had found it almost impossible to come up with an appropriate gift for Brian. He had everything practical, and anything sentimental might have been awkward. The dress watch she’d finally selected told time with two diamonds for hands, and was as masculine as it was unusual. She looked anxiously for his approval.

“How beautiful, Leigh,” he said softly, and set it on his wrist to admire it. Lazily, his eyes flicked over her as well, as if the compliment applied even more to her. “Come on, open up! There’s one here, and I’ll bring the other in a minute.”

She opened the small, flat package carefully. Inside was a necklace with a large black opal on a delicate chain. It was simple in design, yet stunning. She looked at him, not bothering to hide the glow in her eyes. “I love it, Brian. I didn’t expect…” She reached up to kiss him swiftly. Very swiftly. Yet long enough to taste the soft, warm pressure and flavor of his mouth, which gave beneath hers. She drew back, and just as softly, just as swiftly, his finger traced the curl of her bottom lip. The flair of desire in his eyes startled her, but instantly it was gone. “I have to go out to get your other present, Red. Don’t move.”

The others were watching her now, their presents already opened. There was a special interest in what Brian said and did, and then there was the special interest that any newlyweds evoked. Moments later, Brian returned and stopped at the doorway. “I couldn’t wrap this one. Will it offend your dignity if I ask you to close your eyes for five seconds, Red?” he asked teasingly.

Laughing and a little embarrassed, she agreed. It was only moments later that she felt a squirming weight on her lap and the sensation of wet silk lapping her palm. She opened her eyes, startled. A soft, curly-haired black puppy wriggled on the white angora of her skirt, its huge eyes staring into hers.

Slowly, gently, she bent to cuddle the animal, lifting it to the curve of her neck, her eyes lowered to blink back the glisten of tears. A gift of life was a gift of love, and she was suddenly conscious that it was Brian who had offered her both in the child growing within her. Overwhelmed, she could only stare mutely at the soft bundle of fur on her lap.

“Now, I know a pup’s trouble, Red,” Brian said, strangely tentative in her continued silence. “But he’s one of Gerry’s Newfoundlands—he’ll grow into a good-sized watchdog, and the breed loves kids. I know I never asked if you liked animals, but I’d feel easier on the nights I work late…”

He stopped talking when she looked up at him. The amber of flame met charcoal, ignited, took hold. He was still standing, and between holding the pup and her skirts it was awkward to rise gracefully, and her shoes were gone. None of it was easy, to share from the heart she’d sheltered so fiercely. But it was necessary—that kind of honesty, that kind of acknowledgment for what his gifts had meant to her. Her fingers clenched in the fabric of his shirt as she reached up on tiptoe, her eyes never leaving his. Slowly, her lashes shuttered down as her mouth blended with his, her arms slipping around his waist to hold him.

His mouth deepened on hers, arching her throat back. It was Brian who pulled back, his eyes telling her he had only done so because of their audience, his face softer than she had ever seen it, as he kept his arms loosely around her.

“I think she likes the puppy better than the necklace,” Barry teased lightly.

“Hey, Leigh, I’ve got a horse I’d be willing to give you right now, if you want to take a little trip out to the barn,” Gerald suggested with a playful wink.

“Boys!” Mrs. Hathaway admonished, and they all started laughing, the children clamoring at Leigh’s side, proud that they had kept the secret, demanding to play with the puppy.

The mood was broken as Jane called for help in the kitchen. The rest of the day sped by in a blur of activity: a large turkey dinner and a sleigh ride afterward; then a snowmobile ride and a snowball fight with children and adults alike. It was dark before Brian insisted they get ready to go back to his mother’s house; there was a plane to Chicago to catch in the morning. Confusion accelerated promptly: presents were gathered, goodbyes and thank-yous expressed yet again. An impromptu round of turkey sandwiches was made and munched on, and an occasional child cried over broken toys or shrieked in play. Mrs. Hathaway obviously loved every minute of it, and added to the chaos by trying to finish any number of conversations she had previously started, all at the same time.

Leigh could not remember a day when she had laughed so much. She named the pup Monster as it climbed back and forth between the three of them, claiming constant attention the entire ride home. Brian took care of settling him when they reached Mrs. Hathaway’s. Weariness overtook Leigh as she walked in the door, but it was a marvelously pleasant sensation. Mrs. Hathaway urged her into a warm tub, liberally sprinkled with scented bath salts. It was only nine-thirty when she emerged, clean and thoroughly at peace, sweet-smelling and snug in a soft velvet robe. Going to the living room she curled up on the couch by the Christmas tree, where Mrs. Hathaway was already settled in her rocker, knitting. “Brian’s taken a short walk to wind down,” she explained.

Leigh hugged her knees to her chest, staring mesmerized at the lights of the tree. Mrs. Hathaway seemed to be no more inclined to talk than she was. It had been a good day, and in spite of herself Leigh fought sleep, wanting to savor the memories.

She did not realize until Brian walked back in, stomping the snow from his boots, his features reddened with cold, that somewhere inside she’d been waiting for his return so that she could relax completely. Which made no sense—it even struck a chord of disquiet inside. Yet before he had finished the first shot of whiskey he poured to warm himself, her head had fallen against the pillow and she was fast asleep.

***

Leigh was seventeen in the dream. It was one in the morning and she’d been out with Bob, one of her more steady dates, celebrating his birthday present—a fancy, low-slung sports car. Leigh neither liked nor disliked Bob, but he suited—for the time being. His parents didn’t care what time he came in at night, and Leigh had her own reasons for staying out late.

When she came home, she found her stepfather waiting for her at the door. David’s shirt was only half-buttoned, and she could see that he’d been drinking. She was wary of him, as she had been wary of him for months now; that was the reason why she never came home nights until she had to. This night was worse, because her mother was in New York on a shopping trip and had left Leigh alone with David, except for Robert on the opposite side of the house.

He insisted she have a drink with him, and rather than cause a scene she agreed. The cards were still on the table in the study; his poker-playing friends couldn’t have been gone long. The room was smoky, and there was an empty liquor bottle on the table and another open at the bar. He’d lost at cards; she knew that. It bothered him to lose, but not to spend her mother’s money doing it, a fact Leigh was foolish enough to point out to him.

That was always the end of the floating sensation of the dream and the beginning of the nightmare. She cringed in sleep, seeing herself all too clearly in the dim smoky room, so foolishly, innocently arrogant, proud of her contempt. “Next to my father, you’re such a parasite… What my mother ever saw in you…” She was wrong to talk that way, but he should never have brought up her mother, should never have told Leigh that the only thing he’d ever seen in Andrea Sexton was money…and her daughter.

“I’ve just been biding my time, waiting to be alone with you, sweetie,” he told her in a voice thick with whiskey.

The world crashed—confusion and darkness and shock. Her blouse was ripped and she was frantically trying to get to her feet, to get away from him. A slap on the side of her head sent her reeling. Before she’d recovered he was on top of her. She was sobbing with nausea and horror and disgust. “Oh no, oh no!”