Hannah grinned after her. “You were married sixty-four years. It’s bound to be difficult to get back in the dating pool.”
Elda’s voice was muffled. “We’re not dating. People our age don’t date.”
“Do, too.” Arnie, for all his smarminess, got part of the credit for bringing Elda out of her grief-laden funk. He’d moved to Fluffy Palms right after Christmas, and his over-the-top gallant attentions to the sturdy old woman had perked her right up.
Elda stepped into the bedroom wearing an emerald-green dress that flattered her coloring and made her look taller and thinner. “It’s a good dress,” she said grudgingly. “You’ve got an eye. But where would I wear it?”
“Did you ever hear of dinner and a movie?”
Elda studied her reflection in the mirror. “He’s probably thinking bingo and sex.”
“Elda!” Hannah was shocked in spite of herself. She didn’t want to think about her surrogate grandmother having intimate relations with anyone, much less Arnie. Hannah had her doubts about whether or not the amiable Arnie was on the up-and-up, but Elda trusted him, so that was that. Elda outweighed him by at least fifty pounds and could probably keep him in line under the worst of circumstances, so Hannah decided her own worries were probably unfounded.
By the time Hannah left thirty minutes later, Elda was already making plans for a night out on the town.
After that visit, Hannah spent the next three hours dropping off prescriptions, picking up dry cleaning, and showing Mrs. Lederman how to send an e-mail to her granddaughter on her new computer. By the time Hannah’s stomach started to growl, she realized with a panicked glance at her watch that Morgan would be at her house in less than two hours, and she had done nothing at all to prepare for their celebratory dinner.
He’d taken her to a swanky restaurant the night before, and she wanted to return the favor by fixing him his favorite meal of fried chicken and mashed potatoes. His culinary tastes were uncomplicated, and the genuine appreciation he showed when she cooked for him made her want to do it more. He spoiled her constantly, and she enjoyed pampering him when he allowed it.
As she dashed back home and ducked into the shower, she pondered the implications of wearing his ring even in the short-term. It was bound to complicate things, and she had a feeling that with his symbol of claiming on her hand, he might renew his arguments about living together.
He cited things like saving money and spending more time together, but in his eyes she saw the real truth. She saw the hunger that mirrored hers. He wanted her in bed with him night after night. Their bodies tucked together in the aftermath of slow, sweet lovemaking. And God knows, she wanted it, too. But she didn’t dare. Letting him down gently was going to be hard enough as it was. And if he was entrenched in her apartment or she in his, it would be far worse.
By the time she slipped into white capri pants and a skinny pink T-shirt, the chicken breasts were nicely browned, the potatoes were creamy, and the crisp salad waited for a final dusting of Parmesan cheese. When Morgan rang her doorbell at seven on the dot, her pulse actually fluttered. He was a disciplined man. Punctual, tidy, and a caretaker at heart. A woman would be a fool to let him get away.
She opened the door and squeaked when he scooped her into his arms and held her firmly against his hard chest, her toes dangling inches above the floor. He had showered recently, and his skin smelled fresh and masculine from the plain soap he preferred.
He captured her lips and ate at them lazily, taking his time, savoring the appetizer. When he finally set her back on her feet, she was breathless. He leaned one long arm across the top of the doorframe and tucked a strand of her hair behind her ear. “How’s my beautiful fiancée?”
The note of satisfied possessiveness in his deep voice amused her and at the same time filled her with a warm glow of happiness. She pushed her doubts to the background, where they could stay for the moment. She smiled at him, for once not trying to hide what she felt. “Pretty damn good, Mr. Webber. Pretty damn good.”
Two
Morgan blinked, almost taken aback by what he saw in her eyes. He was so accustomed to the way she guarded her emotions, it was a shock to witness her open affection and happiness. He sensed that for once he had gained the upper hand. Hannah’s cheeks were flushed, and her big brown eyes were dreamy and drowsy with passion. She wasn’t wearing a bra beneath that little nothing of a T-shirt, and her nipples thrust against the soft fabric, giving him a clear indication of her state of mind.
He picked up her left hand and kissed her knuckle just below the ring. “I love seeing this on your finger,” he said quietly. Perhaps he shouldn’t make himself so vulnerable, but he couldn’t help it. His heart was bursting with pride and an entirely un-PC sense of masculine victory.
Her fingers curled around his and her lashes dropped, shielding her expression. She didn’t answer his statement, though perhaps it didn’t require one. He wanted to ask if she had showed off her new piece of jewelry today, but he stopped just shy of letting the words leave his mouth. He wasn’t sure he wanted to know the answer.
Instead, he followed her inside and closed the door, sniffing appreciatively. “Smells wonderful, Hannah. I’m starving.”
While he poured the wine he’d brought over, he watched her unobtrusively. She chattered as usual as she served their plates and set them on the table. Her movements were quick and graceful, and he never tired of watching her. She was a sensual woman, though he guessed she’d never describe herself that way.
Her apartment was a comfortable amalgam of style and sentimentality. Her cognac leather sofa was modern, but she’d graced it with a handmade afghan. Her dishes were vaguely European in design, white stylistic squares, but the glasses she liked to use were a set of Care Bear tumblers she’d found at an antique fair . . . similar to the ones she said her Grammy used to have when Hannah was a child.
He loved her contradictions and her unique approach to life. His apartment was nothing more than a bachelor’s set of rooms with a big-screen TV and a king-size bed. It was a location to store his junk and to sleep. But Hannah’s place was a home.
Every time he walked through the door, he felt the impact of her personality and her simple enjoyment of life. He’d give up his lease in a heartbeat if she would let him move in, but that was an argument he’d not yet won.
He’d told himself he would cultivate patience, but over dessert, he blurted out the thought that had been on his mind all day. “So when do we set a date?”
Her hands stilled. She’d been cutting a bite of store-bought cheesecake, and now she put down her fork and fiddled with her napkin. “Plenty of time for that,” she said lightly, not meeting his gaze.
The delicious meal he’d recently consumed suddenly felt like lead in his stomach. He inhaled sharply and told himself the pain in his chest was indigestion. “Churches and reception halls have to be booked months in advance,” he said quietly, keeping his voice even with effort.
She reached for his hand, and it pained him to see that her teeth mutilated her lower lip. “Let’s enjoy the moment,” she pleaded. “I’ve never been engaged before. And besides, you know you’re swamped at work . . . literally.” She giggled at her own joke. “There’s no way we could go on a honeymoon until that job is done . . . right?”
He knew he was sulking and couldn’t seem to help it. “Fine,” he muttered. “But I still want you to meet my parents. Soon. And I’d like to meet yours.”
She grimaced. “Trust me, you don’t. My mom will drive you nuts in no time, and my dad is not in the picture. So I’d just as soon forget a cozy reunion, if you don’t mind.”
He played with the ring he’d put on her finger. “I’m seeing the bigger picture. They were responsible for bringing you into this world, Hannah, my love. So they’ll always have my undying respect.”
She grinned at him, looking happier now that they’d dodged the date subject. “You say the sweetest things. And it makes me want to jump your bones.”
He leaned back in his chair, refusing to be daunted by possible problems. “I like the sound of that.”
Then he sobered. “Hannah, I . . .”
She cocked her head. “What? You what?”
He sighed. “Not all marriages are bad.” He said it bluntly, no longer willing to dance around the issue.
She flushed and the defensive flash of stubbornness that crossed her face made him groan inwardly. She lifted her chin. “I haven’t seen much proof that marriage works in this day and age.”
He ground his teeth together, refusing to lose his cool. “My parents have been married thirty-eight wonderful years. All it takes is hard work and commitment, both of which you and I are willing to do . . . right?”
She gathered up their plates and stalked to the sink. “Maybe in the olden days that was the formula,” she said. “But it’s a lot harder now. Monogamy isn’t admired. Faithfulness is sneered at. Marriage itself is seen as a joke by many people. You can’t deny it.”
He followed her, staying out of the way as she rinsed dishes and shoved them in the dishwasher with jerky motions. “You’re talking about the world at large, Hannah. I’m talking about us. We’re different.”
She whirled to face him, her expression belligerent. “What makes you think so?”
His jaw gaped. She’d cut the ground right out from under him. His neck muscles were so tight, he already felt the beginnings of a tension headache, and this fledgling engagement was barely twenty-four hours old.
He scooped her into his arms, ignoring the clatter of dropped silverware. “
This
makes me think so,” he growled. He decided he couldn’t make it as far as the bedroom. He tumbled them both to the sofa just around the corner and ripped up the hem of her T-shirt. He brushed her nipples with his fingertips. Then he caught the nearest one between his teeth and bit gently.
Hannah went wild in his arms. Her hands jerked at his belt buckle. He stripped her pants to her ankles. Both of them were clumsy and uncoordinated, but they got the job done. He positioned his aching cock between her legs and pushed hard. Every time he entered her tight body, he marveled that anything could feel so damned incredible.
She panted and cried out his name. He could feel the butterfly squeezes on his prick that signaled her imminent climax. He slid out slowly and teased her with a long, lazy stroke. When she called him a bad name, he bared his teeth in a tight grin. “Is there a problem? ” He could hear the hoarseness in his own voice.
She wrapped her legs around his waist in a vice, threatening his backbone. “Please, Morgan. Don’t make me beg.”
He pumped once more and stopped. “I like begging. Especially from you.”
She opened one eyelid and glared at him. “You are a sadistic, egotistical—” She gasped when he shoved deeper. Her brown irises were as dark as molten chocolate.
He bent his head and found her mouth. “I love you, Hannah.”
The sudden switch from eroticism to tenderness caught her off guard and plunged her over the edge. As she shuddered and gasped, she held him tightly, tears stinging the backs of her eyelids. Her body shivered with pleasure.
Somehow he always managed to undermine her habitual defenses, and no matter how carefully she tried to guard her heart and her emotions, he refused to be shut out. In the beginning his utter focus on worming his way into her life had sometimes scared her. Now it provided a security she relied on more and more each day.
And if that was a weakness on her part, she couldn’t find it in her heart to care.
As their ragged breathing slowed, the silence in the room grew louder. Darkness had fallen beyond the partially open drapes, and the room was dim save for the light spilling in from the kitchen.
She ran her fingers through the damp hair at the nape of his neck. It was a strong neck, strong like the rest of him. But even so, her touch made him groan and nuzzle into her embrace. He’d kept most of his weight balanced on one arm so he wouldn’t crush her, but his hips pressed her into the sofa. She had never once been afraid of his size or his physical power. Morgan was the kind of man who cherished those weaker than he. But she feared his ability to make her want things that were not real. Things that could lead only to disappointment and hurt.
She felt she owed him something significant in exchange for the beautiful ring, something to acknowledge the pleasure it gave her to wear it. But what could she do or say that wouldn’t send them farther down a path she wasn’t prepared to explore?
Her lips trembled as she formed the words. “You could leave a toothbrush here, if you want,” she mumbled, feeling self-conscious. She felt the sudden stillness that invaded his body. They were plastered so closely together she couldn’t miss it.
The muscles in his throat worked. “You’re sure?”
She nodded.
“And maybe a change of clothes?”
A bubble of laughter escaped her. “It’s never enough with you, is it, Webber?”
He disengaged their bodies and rolled suddenly, settling her on top of him with a talented maneuver. She looked down at him, seeing the naughty twinkle in his eyes. His big hands cupped her bare ass. “It will never be enough, my love. Never.”
He got up to leave soon after, and she couldn’t decide if she was sad or relieved. It was getting harder and harder to put on the brakes. She wanted to throw caution to the wind and give him everything he wanted.
He paused at the door and reached into the paper grocery sack that had held the bottle of wine he’d brought. Slowly he pulled out a thick, plastic-wrapped rectangle and handed it to her.
She stared at it blankly, feeling the weight of his expectations. It was one of those impossibly heavy, glossy-paged bridal magazines. She held it by the edges, aghast that such a subversive piece of literature had found its way into her home.
He kissed her cheek and ruffled her hair, grinning widely. “Give it a chance, Hannah. You might learn something.”