A Loving Man (15 page)

She opened to him, the blunt pressure filling her, completing her, Stefan holding her so closely they were one. The storm came quickly, flashing and pulsing and still he wanted more, and she gave more, gathering him close to her, stroking his back, nipping his shoulder as the world whirled and caught fire and blazed, her muscles straining for release that seemed so close.

Stefan’s body flowed with hers, familiar and bold and hungry. His lips and tongue battled gently with hers for she would have the taste of him, the desire that sparkled
and tormented and pleased. His hands ran over her, caressing, cupping, touching. She dug her fingertips into his upper arms, caught the power there and took it into her, hoarding it. Within the pounding rhythm came a bloodred heat and she clung to Stefan, matching him until the world quivered and stood still and released its warm flood.

She rested her cheek on his chest as he came to lie close and snug against her, their passion still joined as each was reluctant to leave what had passed. She stroked his taut body, his heartbeat slowing its race, and enjoyed the soothing of him, this man she had taken. He kissed her forehead and smoothed back her hair. “I missed you.”

Rose moved to lie over him, her lover, pinning him to the bed. She looked down into his face, those blunt cheekbones, those dark brown eyes, and traced a thick eyebrow. “I missed you,” she returned, praying that he wouldn’t leave her too soon.

The admission startled her, for she was not one to give it lightly, intimately. Stefan smoothed her cheek, studying her. “It’s not good away from you, Rose,” he said too quietly.

“I know.” She waited for the panic that came when people got too close and it didn’t come. She knew how much she missed him, how she dreamed of him holding her warm and safe. This time their kisses were more gentle, the first fiery hunger fed. Slowly, carefully, their lips fitted and brushed and lifted and Stefan’s caresses treasured her breasts, her back, her bottom. He stroked her intimately then, and the motion became a soft desire and then Stefan’s body completed them as they rocked gently, savoring the intimacy, the pleasure, the completion. In the creaking of the old bed, she found comfort and safety. In Stefan, she found answers that both frightened and pleased her.

Later, she lay quietly in his arms, listening to the old
house settle. The branches of the old oak tree scraped gently against the rain gutter she needed to clean. But all she wanted to do now was rest in Stefan’s arms. She realized that peace wasn’t a commodity she’d experienced very much in her life; she’d had to battle too hard to keep her walls up.

“This isn’t your room,” Stefan noted softly as the shadows quivered around them.

“No. It’s hers. I redid it years ago. I scrubbed away everything that was hers and still she stayed in me. If she would have lived until I was grown up, I’d have told her how awful she was—to tell a child she loved her and then to run away on a cheap thrill and never come back. I spent hours up in that tree, watching the road for the first sight of her coming home. Before I gave up hope of becoming a mother, I feared how awful I would be, and would I have enough love for a child. And then after telling me she loved me she would tell me the truth—that I was unwanted and an ‘accident’ that trapped her. Would I want to abandon my own child?” Rose wished the bitterness weren’t there, but it was. She’d released it to no one else, but Stefan.

“You would love your child,” Stefan said firmly and his hand flattened low on her stomach. He caressed it gently, thoughtfully. “And I do not think that you should completely give up that idea. You would make a wonderful mother.”

She struggled against the tears that burned her lids and slid, one by one, onto Stefan’s bare chest. “It’s silly, I know. I never cry. Never. I haven’t told anyone else, and now I have someone else to remember in this room.”

She lifted suddenly, feeling very vulnerable and feminine. “Stefan, I planned to seduce you tonight. You just wouldn’t fit into my bed, so—”

“I am honored. I very much enjoyed the pleasure and it’s a lovely room. Thank you for sharing it with me.”

“I’m not done with you yet.” She looked down to where Stefan had placed his mouth—on the tender skin between her thumb and her index finger. He gently nibbled and sucked and she realized she couldn’t breathe. Sensations were already purring and revved, simmering and hungry. “That’s nice. Keep it up.”

“Oh, I intend to.”

Later, Stefan spread his reheated dinner on the kitchen table. He mourned the sauce’s texture and lit the Christmas candles. He wanted a life with Rose, a wedding and a family. He would have to move very carefully so as not to frighten her while she dealt with her ghosts. He knew that she had shared more with him than with anyone else, and that they were cruising into trouble—abstaining for a takeover had been difficult and he’d almost asked her to marry him. He would have to make the right decision for Rose and for his family. Yvette and Estelle and he had worked together as a team on the old house and were growing closer every day. But he needed Rose. Was it asking too much to marry the woman he loved?
He wanted to wake up every morning in their marriage bed.

The telephone rang, and Rose answered. She frowned slightly as if puzzled. “Yes, that’s Stefan’s pickup outside. You want to speak with him? Henry has plans for tonight? What do you mean, Henry has plans?”

Stefan hurried to take the telephone from her. He spoke in a hushed, firm tone, similar to those in spy movies. “Not tonight. I will contact you.”

Rose studied him as he disconnected the line. Stefan had sounded very determined. “What’s up?”

“I’m trying to bond with your ex-fiancés. We’re having an all-men’s night soon. I apologize, but I will be unavail
able to you at that time,” Stefan said very carefully as he admired the long, curved line of her body beneath his T-shirt. It all seemed too good to be true, cooking in a home kitchen, wearing his boxer shorts while his love hungrily eyed dinner.

“Henry and Larry used to invite me along for those late-night fishing trips. When we were younger, I had to dig and provide worms. They’re older, and they left me alone in a cemetery while we were snipe hunting. Dad made them apologize and explain to me that there weren’t any such creatures—you’re getting ready to leave Waterville, aren’t you? You’re bored and ready to get back into the swing of things. That’s what your mother was talking about, wasn’t it? That you miss the city and the action?”

Stefan turned to face her. He placed aside the plate he had just filled. He concentrated on finding the right words and not frightening Rose. “Surely you know that I have found enough ‘action’ here, with you.”

“I can’t imagine you staying here permanently.” Rose’s bald statement hit the room. She gripped the back of a chair for an anchor. She would miss him all her life, but she’d had this unique time to remember and cherish.

“My mother is happy here, so is my daughter. They are already planning holidays. There is no reason I could not be happy here, too. I am considering making arrangements to remain here—with you.”

The kitchen was suddenly too quiet and tense, waves of emotion hitting Rose. “I’ve seen you in a business meeting. You’re tough and there’s an excitement dancing around you, like a warrior going into battle. Estelle and Yvette may stay, but you need that edge, that challenge. It’s as if you’re pitting yourself against all odds and enjoying it. There’s nothing to fight in Waterville, Stefan. If you came back at times—that’s visiting, not living day-to
day, watching the gardens and the children grow and the elderly age.”

“True, and those are good battles, ones to fill the heart. Do you think so little of me, that I have no heart?”

She couldn’t bear to hurt Stefan’s feelings and returned quickly, “You’ve got a marvelous, generous, loving heart. Look what you’ve done—no easy matter to take time away from your company to live here. But that other part of you needs something else.”

“Yes, it does need something else—you.”

Rose placed her hand on her throat, which had just tightened as she panicked. “Did you think, my darling,” Stefan said too softly, with an edge of temper brewing in his words, “that I would want your body and not your heart?”

“That last faerie is a little slanted, old buddy. If her tutu tips any more, I’ll see up her skirt,” Larry noted as he sipped his beer, then placed the bottle on the sundial held by a faerie statue. “Better prop that wooden one up straight before it falls on that fern.”

Henry held up his beer and used it to sight the upright faerie, with wings glistening in the September 1 moonlight. The leaves rattled gently overhead, the oaks preparing for fiery autumn color. The roses in the Granger garden were still lush and huge, but soon they would fall on the faeries that now stood in various poses in the garden. The largest ones were concrete and gleamed in the moonlight; the more delicately fashioned polyresins seemed lighter, their gauzelike clothing almost floating in the slight breeze. The artist had given the wings special care, embellishing the individual parts with ferns and flowers and lace. Their faces seemed almost childlike, waving hair decked with daisies and ribbons.

Stefan held the petals of a rose in his palm, the wind
fluttering them gently, stirring their scent, which reminded him of Rose. He had to leave, and Rose’s expression the night of their dinner haunted him. She’d hurt him—thinking that her body was only for his play, his enjoyment, and that his heart didn’t come with the mix. In French, he’d told her of his love many times during those evening calls; he’d told her of how he felt holding her close, their skin hot with desire, their bodies shaking, and yet his heart had ruled him—for Stefan had found that he was a man who could only make love when he cared deeply.

“The girls should keep Rose long enough for us to get the job done, Stefan. We’ve got plenty of time. After Mary Lou’s baby shower, a bunch of the girls will go down to the Lizard Lounge to top off the night. Rose usually goes with them. So what’s to eat, Stefan? Nothing fancy, I hope, maybe just some cold cut sandwiches? These statues are heavy things,” Henry said as he put his shoulder against a four-foot faerie holding a wand and muscled it upright.

“Rose will love them,” Larry said as he sat down on the ground to study the statues in the rose garden. “Faeries were all she had to comfort her years ago. She gave me a black eye for laughing at her, and she was right to do it. I’m teaching my boys to be more sensitive. Glad you asked us to help, Stefan. Rose deserves nice things.”

Stefan prayed he wasn’t adding to Rose’s fear by placing the statues in her garden, just as he wanted to place his love in her heart. He hadn’t meant to sound so cold and hard—
Did you think, my darling, that I would want your body and not your heart?

He’d sounded as if he were making a business acquisition, but the sting went deep—that Rose would think so little of him. The panic in her wide blue eyes had told him not to push the matter, and he’d hoped that the rose garden faeries would add a gentler persuasion to his case for ro
mance. He’d been very careful not to give Rose gifts because she was still simmering over his refusal to accept payment for roofing her house. He’d torn up the check she’d written for his day of work at the store. He discovered that she was very determined to give an “equalizing” gift when one was given, but the several hundred pound statues weren’t easily returned. They were set in concrete, a permanent fixture as was his love. He wanted her to think of him when he was away—and he would have to leave soon.

The men settled down to drink beer and eat bratwursts on buns, slathered with good mustard. Larry and Henry, old friends who had grown up with Rose, cared very deeply for her, and Stefan enjoyed listening to their Rose-stories.

Around midnight, when they were all lying flat on the lawn, studying the moon above, Mrs. Wilkins called, “If you boys don’t hurry up and leave, Rose will be home soon and find you snockered in her garden. You’re a nice man, Stefan Donatien.”

“He sure is,” Larry said very slowly and distinctly.

“Sure is,” Henry added, seemingly pleased with his loud belch.

“I love Rose, and I love you guys, too,” Stefan returned, feeling very mellow as he lay on the ground with his friends. He balanced his bottle of beer on his stomach and studied the faeries surrounding them. They were in different poses, their wings arching, almost fluttering, holding gifts of flowers and birdbaths and sundials, and love. He could almost see them kissing freckles all over Rose’s long, delectable body. He wanted her to have something to remember him by when he left on his business trip. “Good job, men,” he said.

“She’ll love them, but she gets uppity sometimes when
people give her things…because she doesn’t want anyone feeling sorry for her,” Mrs. Wilkins said, coming to settle on the old wooden bench. “I think you’re feeling something other than that and this is a nice way to show her how much you love her. It’s unique and sweet, and I’d like to tell you a few stories about Rose, so you’ll understand her pride better. She’s a giver, you see. She’s wound through our lives, a beautiful caring girl, who became even more considerate as a woman. You could always count on Rose in a hard spot, like when I had those bouts of pneumonia. She was right there, taking me to the doctor, taking care of me, like she has other people in Waterville. She spreads kindness like sunshine, and that’s why we call her ‘The Love Spinner.’ But she hasn’t learned that in taking gifts, she is also giving.”

She took her scissors and snipped lengths of blue ribbon. “There, if we tie these around the faeries, they’ll seem more like gifts. This blue is the exact shade of Rose’s eyes. Got any more bratwursts?”

Stefan served more bratwurst and more beer and settled down into a mellow expectation of how much Rose would like his surprise. With the air sweet around him, and images of Rose steaming nicely to his caresses, Stefan sighed happily. “I think I love all of you,” he stated grandly.

“Uh…you’re okay, too,” Larry said after a look at Henry.

“And Rose?” Mrs. Wilkins prompted.