Eluding his hands, she continued her quest, until he dropped back to the bed with a groan that rewarded her. It was a brief surrender.
“No more, Leslie.” He reversed their positions with dizzying ease. His face intent, his voice hoarse, he promised. “You win this time. But next time…”
“Next time,” she agreed.
Oh, but first there was this time, and the rightness of having him inside her, meeting, retreating, returning, stroking, until the straining to attain the impossible burst into an impossible pleasure.
She watched him, his intent face drawn tight as the shudders wracked him, and she cushioned him when be collapsed with a guttural groan of completion. Someday she would have to let him go, but for now she held him. She would wait, just a little longer, before telling him the truth that would push him away. She would give Grady time to know his value, to know a true relationship.
While she gave herself the pleasure of loving him, not as a mother hen, but as a woman, purely as a woman.
“I don’t want you to see that guy anymore.”
It was almost as if her own conscience had spoken, warning her away from Grady. Except the voice was Grady’s.
“What?”
“That guy at the deli who was hanging all over you.”
“Barry? That’s ridiculous, Barry’s a friend. Besides, he’s engaged. He’d just told me the news and I was congratulating him.”
“Yeah? He didn’t act engaged when he had you wrapped up.”
She started to say something, and stopped.
Grady propped up his head to watch her. He hadn't known where her thoughts had gone a little while ago, though he’d suspected he wouldn’t have liked it. But this time at least he could follow her progress.
Her expression shifted from amazement to resolve; from reacting to what he said, to his right to say it. He didn't think he was going to like this, either.
“Grady, you can’t tell me who to see or who not to see. You have no claim on me. I have no claim on you.”
“Well, maybe that can change. In time.” This was uncharted territory for him, stepping into it left him feeling uncertain, a little scared, but dogged.
“You don’t understand. It won’t change. It can’t change. Because we can’t have a claim on each other.”
A thread of desperation wove into her words. He could understand that, he felt a little that way himself. Maybe even a shade deserted. Why would she pull away from him now? How could she deny this closeness, built up of friendship, expressed through passion?
“Why?”
The demand rocked her, he saw that, but she gathered herself. “We’re not headed for the same kind of life.”
He swore to himself and at himself. She was still seeing his damned playboy image. And the worst of it was he’d deserved it. But he thought she’d seen how he’d changed; more importantly, he thought she’d seen what he’d always been beneath the image.
“That’s not true. I’m not saying I’m ready. I’m not saying I’m any prize in the relationship sweepstakes, but don’t dismiss me as just Good-Time Grady. That’s not what I want from my life, that’s—”
“Grady, you don’t have to tell me—”
“No, listen.” He gripped her hands, then consciously softened his hold. “Hear me out. Will you do that?”
She closed her eyes, and he had the uneasy impression it was to prevent his seeing pain in them.
“Yes, I’ll do that.”
She sounded so calm; he must have been mistaken. Still, for some reason, this wasn’t easy for her. That made him all the more determined to be honest. Not only so she would know about him, but in the hope she might reveal whatever barrier she’d erected all the others to obscure.
He took a breath and let it out slowly. This wouldn’t be easy. He hadn’t said these words to anyone before. He’d figured the people who mattered in his life knew at some level, and no one else was important. But Leslie was important, so he searched for words.
“I already told you enough about my parents, so you know my home life wasn’t the best.” He waited for her nod and to give himself another second. “And I guess I mentioned about fantasizing my family was like the ones I saw in old movies. Suppose you could say the fantasizing didn’t stop there. I mean, uh, I’ve always dreamed about having a family. Having a wife and kids and a real home, not just some designer condo or a hotel room. The whole suburban dream—cookouts and playing catch with the kids and cuddling with my wife in a hammock after mowing the lawn—”
He stopped abruptly, fearing he’d gotten too earnest, but saw only understanding in Leslie’s eyes.
He managed a grin. “Would you believe I’ve never mowed a lawn in my life? But I’d learn, just so I could teach my kids. And play catch and help them with homework. We could take family trips and . . .”
Leslie listened to Grady’s dream for a family.
At first with an awkwardness that broke her heart, then with more assurance and fervor, he talked about how he imagined raising his children. How he’d spend time with them, how he’d love them.
How they would have the happy childhood he’d never had. How they would know the love and security every child should have, every child needs. And that he’d never had. He didn’t say those things, but she heard them, anyhow.
“So we
do
want the same things from life. I might need some tutoring in this like I did with gift buying—” His crooked grin tore at her. “But I think with time—and help— I’ll get the hang of it. I won’t make you any promises and I’m not asking any because I’m not sure where this is heading with us. But I am asking one thing: Will you give me time, Leslie?”
Every word confirmed the heartache she’d seen coming all along. It waited there for her as surely as an oak’s leaves died come fall. Backing away now might cushion some of the chill . . . But how could she pull away from him now?
“Yes, I’ll give you time.”
She would love him with every bit of her soul, until he could not possibly doubt the value of the heart he had to offer. And she would treasure the time for herself, before she accepted the permanency of winter.
Then she would tell him a future for them was impossible, because she couldn’t give him the one thing he wanted.
She couldn’t give him children.
Chapter Eleven
Three weeks. Three weeks wasn’t long enough to love Grady Roberts the way he needed to be loved.
But three weeks was all she’d had between that day he’d followed her to the Wisconsin Avenue deli—and the night that followed—and April’s arrival.
Three weeks of laughter and loving. Out in public it really wasn’t so different from the weeks when he’d been taking her to the historic sites, except he touched her more often—his leg against hers, his arm around her shoulders, his hand holding hers—which in a way was a very big difference. In private the touching expanded, reaching the most satisfactory of conclusions.
In their free time, he wanted to continue the historic trips, but she suggested saving those for entertaining April; the topic of Charlottesville she avoided altogether. Instead, they sampled nearby activities: an outdoor concert at Wolf Trap, a men’s professional tennis tournament at Rock Creek Park, a free Shakespeare play at Carter Barron, a military band at the Jefferson Memorial.
Mostly they did things alone. But Grady did arrange one dinner with Tris and Michael. It went better than Leslie had anxiously anticipated. She wondered how much of that had to do with the soothing hand Michael kept on Tris most of the evening. From the activity she sensed under the table she wouldn’t have been surprised if he supplemented it with some leg, knee and foot touches, too. Gratitude aside, however, she would have been blind not to recognize that touching his wife was no hardship for Michael Dickinson.
Grady stayed at her apartment, in her bed, every night except two, when he had to return to Chicago, and she’d missed him much too much for comfort.
Leslie offered her knowledge of the area to help him assess office possibilities. He not only took her up on that, but soon had her looking at houses with him, too. He said nothing overt, but some of his comments . . . well, if that had gone on much longer, she would have had to pull away even sooner than she’d planned.
In some ways, April’s arrival was a relief.
It slowed her growing intimacy with Grady without her having to apply the brake herself.
In some ways it was pure hell.
As much as she loved her family, and felt that April had been dealt a less than satisfactory hand when it came to parents, the girl’s monosyllabic, sullen answers challenged even Leslie’s patience.
Surprisingly Grady dealt well with April. He made no effort to cajole or please April, treating her as matter-of-factly as he might a business associate. And she responded in kind—which was the friendliest Leslie had seen her.
It was the physical frustration Grady didn’t deal well with.
Leaving her apartment, he tugged her after him into the shadowed stairwell and kissed her thoroughly.
“I’m too old for this stuff, Leslie.”
“I thought you were doing just fine,” she said dryly, still breathless.
He grinned, but shook his head. “Holding hands, having my arm around you at the movies and snatching kisses in the kitchen is for teenagers. Don’t get me wrong, I like it, but I want more. Lots more. Can’t we send April to day-care for a day?”
“Talk about being too old. Besides—”
He dropped his forehead against hers. “I know, I know. The kid’s gotten shunted aside enough as it is.” When he raised his head she caught a gleam in his eyes. “But how about if we showed her how much we trust her by leaving her alone in your apartment—”
“I do leave her alone—mornings—while I’m at work at the foundation.”
“Then how about leaving her alone for a night while you’re at play in my hotel room.”
“Grady—”
He cut off her protest with a hard, deep kiss that pressed her against the wall. The kiss gentled, but picked up a rhythm that quickly had her body responding. She wrapped her arms around his shoulders, pressed her breasts against his hard chest and opened her legs slightly for him to nestle against her.
Lord, did anything else in the world feel as good?
Yes, one thing.
He slid his hand down her side, past her hip, along the back of her thigh, to behind her knee, then lifted, shifting so her thigh hooked over his, and bringing them a little closer.
And she remembered what he’d said three weeks before, about taking her right there, right then.
He wouldn’t . . . would he?
“God, Leslie, I do need you.” His hips took up the rhythm as his lips touched her cheekbone, her eyebrow, her chin. “This way, yes, but also—”
A door closing below them and footsteps on the stairs broke them apart like a shot. By the time Mr. Weidelman reached their landing, they both had their clothes in order and their breathing somewhat under control. Though Grady stuck close to the shadows.
Leslie considered it very fortunate that Mr. Weidelman took time climbing stairs and that his eyesight wasn’t as sharp as his wife’s. He merely gave them a curious look, wished them a good-night and continued on to his apartment.
Grady started to reach for her; Leslie stepped back.
“No. Talk about acting like teenagers. We can’t do this out here. We might not get a warning next time.”
“And we can’t do it in there.” He jerked his head toward her apartment door. “We’ve got to think of a way to be alone together, Leslie. It’s been twenty-two days.” He studied her face for a moment, then seemed to relent. “Look, we’re both tired tonight and we both have to be up early for work. But tomorrow we figure something out. I can’t take another week of this, and I hope to God you can’t, either.” He kissed her hard and quick. “I’ll call you tomorrow.”
* * * *
The knock on her office door and the buzz on her phone arrived simultaneously.
“Come in— Hello?”
“Hi, Leslie.” Grady’s voice came across the phone line, enough to make her heart beat faster. “Have I got news for you. Guess—”
“Leslie!” Tris came around the opening door already talking. “Guess—”
“—what!” The word came in stereo.
“What?”
“The baby!”
“Bette had the baby—”
“This morning—”
“A little girl—”
“Everybody’s fine—”
“Paul just called—”
“Bette went into labor last night, right after dinner—”
“He started off calm, then he got so excited, Mrs. M. had to take the phone and give me the details. They’re not sure on the name—”
“Seven pounds, two ounces. Born at 8:02 this morning and—”
“Wait a minute, wait a minute both of you,” Leslie finally had a chance to order.
“Both of us?”
“Who’s on the phone?”
“Grady’s on the phone and,” she added into that instrument, “Tris is here in the office and you’re both talking at the same time, and I can only hear one at a time.”
“Well, if you’ve got Grady filling you in, I’m going to go try Michael again. He was out of the office, but Sharon thought she could track him down.” Tris raised her voice to be sure it would carry through the phone. “And nobody else better tell him the news before I get a chance to, do you hear that, Grady Roberts?”
He laughed.
“He heard,” Leslie said. Tris gave her a suspicious look, but waved goodbye and closed the door behind her.
“I wonder if I could get to him first . . .”
“Don’t you dare even try.”
He chuckled. “Okay. I’d rather talk to you, anyhow.”
“Grady, isn’t this early for the baby to come? I thought Bette’s due date was later.”
“It was. But you know, Mrs. M. has said all along that she thought the baby would be earlier than that. And from what Bette said the past couple times I talked to her, I don’t suppose she minds cutting a week off this pregnancy, not as long as the baby’s fine, and from all reports she is. In fact,” he said indulgently, “the report from Illinois is that she’s perfect.”
“I’m glad,” she said sincerely, though she couldn’t stop sad memories from joining her happiness for Bette and Paul.
“Leslie?”
“Hmmm?”
“You know, I’ll need help buying a baby gift.”