Sweets to the Sweet (5 page)

Fear dissolved into intensely powerful emotions, a terrible surge of need to be held, to be wanted, to be taken by this man, now, here, before the fear came back again. Her senses were making insatiable demands, to touch and be touched, and she seemed to be trembling, inside, outside, all over.

Her fingers skidded over his arms, his shoulders, groping and awkward, trying to hold on. His touch was fire, and she was burning. She heard his whispered
“yes,”
as if she’d done something right when everything she was doing was wrong. She knew it was; Peter had told her over and over how inadequate she was as a lover. But Peter suddenly seemed someone from a far-distant past; Owen was…Owen. Here, now, immediate. And as if he were the only man she’d ever known, her mouth searched for his, found it, savored as he’d savored, crushed as he’d crushed.

Owen’s palm slid under her skirt and glided intimately over her thigh. Under a tangle of fabric, she felt him cup her bottom and hold her hard against him. The breath whooshed from her lungs in a hoarse, murmured plea, and she heard an answering groan escape Owen.

In time, he pushed down her skirt; his kisses turned gentle. His hands soothed instead of stroked, although the beat in his Adam’s apple was unsteady when he looked down at her. “Do you have any idea how beautiful you are?” he whispered.

A faint flush darkened her cheeks. He smiled. His arms went around her, holding her, like a velvet cage, his chin nuzzling the top of her head. “I thought I could behave myself if I brought you to a public place. Obviously, I was wrong.” He tilted back his head. “You’re not safe, you know.”

“Owen—”

“Yes, I know all about your stitches,” he said dryly. “Just…stay still for a minute. Let me hold you.”

He held her until he again felt her relax in his arms. His eyes turned pensive, thoughtful. She so fiercely held back that inner Laura. But when she let loose, he had treasure. She was richly abandoned in giving—loving and needing love like no other woman he’d known.

“Owen?”

“Hmm?”

“Your arm has to be cramped.”

“It is. And your baby is undoubtedly getting hungry.” He sighed. Moments later, they gathered up the blanket and slipped on their shoes. On the drive home, he couldn’t stop stealing glances at her. Her hair was wind-tumbled; there was a sleepy flush on her cheeks that he knew he’d put there. Still, her eyes shied away from his; she was careful not to touch him.

At a traffic light, he leaned over to press a whimsical kiss on her nose. “Stop thinking, would you?” he teased, but there was a layer of seriousness in his voice.

“I’m afraid…I misled you,” she said quietly. “Owen…”

“Know something?”

“What?”

“I’d like to believe we’re past pretending. I’d like to believe you and I don’t need any kind of pretense between us.”

He reached out a hand, and after a moment’s hesitation she took it, perhaps because she badly wanted to believe, as he did, that they had something special together.

Still, shadows clung to her mind; she felt a rush of nameless anxiety. Already, he meant too much to her. It was easier to believe she cared for him because it was a time in her life when she needed someone—anyone—just to be there. But no other man was like Owen. He sparked feelings she shouldn’t feel; he made being wanted seem like a gift.

Laura fed Mari in Paige’s back bedroom, and when she returned to the kitchen, there was a picnic-style dinner spread out on the table. Toddlers were helping themselves to vegetables and dip; Owen was standing with a beer in one hand and a hefty plate of potato salad and ham in the other. Paige promptly stole Mari from Laura’s arms, flitted around the kitchen putting more food on the table, and never stopped talking.

“
Eat
now. There’s no point in waiting for Gary. My dad’s got him adding a room to their house—they take advantage, I swear. The baby was an angel, did I tell you that? And, Laura, you can see I’m set up for babies—I’m also tied down here as sure as if there were a rope around my neck. Have you ever tried to take three toddlers to the grocery store? So I thought up this great plan while you and Owen were gone. From now on, you come over here on Tuesday mornings, you watch my monsters for an hour so I can shop, then
you
can take off while I watch Mari. Life is so much easier when you know other mothers.”

Laura listened and occasionally got in a word of her own; her glance kept wandering to Owen and she smiled. From across the room, he hadn’t taken his eyes off her. She felt his look, like the pull of a magnet, like a secret that no one else knew or could even sense. His mouth was twisted in a patient grin as he listened to his sister-in-law’s bubbling chatter, but his eyes communicated private messages to Laura.

Mine, Laura.

The next time, there isn’t going to be anyone around.

Button by button, I want to take that blouse off…

A two-year-old climbed on Laura’s lap; she hugged her, still listening to Paige, still conscious of Owen as if they were alone.

“…it isn’t colic, you know. Colic is when a baby’s stomach knots up harder than a rock; you can tell. Mari wasn’t like that, and some babies just cry more than others. I promise it will pass; all the terrible things pass—that’s a guarantee. In fact, the
only
guarantee with children is that they trade in one terrible stage for another.”

Still talking, Paige trailed the two of them to the car. Reluctantly, she released Mari to Laura’s arms and waved until the car was out of sight.

Mari slept while they drove; Laura leaned her head back. “Your sister-in-law—I love her,” she mentioned.

“I hoped you would.” He loved the look of Laura. She’d had some rest, a break from the baby, a dinner she didn’t have to prepare. It took so little to bring out her natural smile. A glow of contentment touched her features in the waning light of early evening, a sensual loveliness, a freshness of spirit. He said casually, “I want you, Laura.”

“Yes.” Unsurprised by his abrupt comment, she leaned her head back, her lips curling in an elusive smile. “Owen, you’re nuts.”

“I don’t think so.”

“Do I have to remind you again that I just had a baby?”

“So we wait. I never had in mind pushing you that fast.”

One eyebrow arched delicately. “Of course you did. You’re used to moving in fast, Owen. Making decisions, then acting on them.”

He paused. “I think,” he said quietly, “you are, too.”

“Not about…people.”

“Yes, about people. And your work, and your life. I think you’re like me, Laura—when you know something’s right, you don’t normally hesitate to face your feelings honestly.”

Laura sighed. “Yes,” she said softly, “but this is different, Owen. You’re different. I don’t feel around you the way I expected to feel—” Around any man, she almost said, but a lump formed in her throat. Weeks ago, she would never have believed how fiercely she could want a stranger. Or how deliciously frightening it felt to be wanted in return.

“Laura.” Owen’s voice had the nectar of caring. “Tell me what you’re afraid of, sweet. Give me a chance to share it. Or am I completely wrong in believing that you feel as strongly as I do when we’re together?”

She turned her head, her cheek against the soft upholstery, studying his strong profile. “No,” she said simply. “I feel…good with you. You must know that. But there are things you don’t know, Owen, things I can’t change, things that have happened to me. I can’t promise you that I’m ready for a relationship…”

“I’m not asking for a promise. I’m only asking that you give us time.”

She closed her eyes and desperately willed away a dozen haunting anxieties. “You’re not going to be patient,” she accused him wryly.

He said nothing. He didn’t need to. Her comment had been a tentative yes, and they both knew it. At a traffic light, he turned to look in the back seat, e gently stroked Mari’s sleeping head for a moment, then returned to the usual driver’s posture again—except for one small detail. His right hand seemed to rest possessively on Laura’s thigh.

The light was fading by the time he pulled up her drive. He half frowned, noting the small blue car parked beside the house before she did. Laura’s head was bent over Mari, as she pulled a small knit cap over the baby’s head.

He reached for the diaper bag, saying nothing for a minute as he noticed the tall form of a man standing near the door of Laura’s house. He was blond, well over six feet, a rangy, big-limbed man in sweatshirt and jeans. He was also good-looking, which made Owen’s eyes narrow reflectively.

“Maybe by some miracle I can get out of this car without waking up the baby,” Laura whispered, chuckling until she glanced at him. “What’s wrong?”

“Nothing,” he said reassuringly. “You have company.”

“What? How could I? I don’t know anyone around here!” Her head whipped toward her house.

Owen couldn’t believe how fast her expression changed. The look of soft laughter disappeared and was replaced by a mask of utter stillness. The color drained from her face, and her arms tightened around the baby.

Without question, Owen knew the man had to be her former husband.

“Laura?”

Her eyes jumped to his, suddenly remote and opaque, telling him nothing of what she was feeling. “It’s my ex-husband,” she said shortly. “Unexpected—but then that’s always expected where Peter is concerned.” She ducked her head, gathering the rest of the baby gear. “Owen—”

“You want me to leave?”

“It isn’t that. I doubt he’ll stay very long, but I don’t want to put you in a position where you’ll feel…awkward.”

“To hell with that,” he muttered impatiently. Exactly like her, to worry about his feelings. And Laura was suddenly wearing pride like a mask. Carefully, so as not to wake the baby, she reached for the door handle. “I heard that.”

“Did you?”

She forced a smile. “Lord, you’re protective,” she said gently. “This is nothing to worry about, Owen. I can handle Peter. But meeting him would be uncomfortable for you, and I don’t want you to feel obligated to stay.”

He didn’t want her fake smiles, and he didn’t want the invisible wall she’d just put between them. “Look, do you
mind
if I meet your ex?”

“No, of course not.” She reached again for the door. “You’ll undoubtedly like each other.” She took a breath. “Everyone likes Peter.”

Owen was more inclined to break the man’s head than to like him, and in that general mood climbed out of the car.

“Laura?”

The guy had a sexy, melodious voice. Another good reason to want to deck him.

“Peter, I didn’t expect you…”

“I’m sorry. But I was afraid if I called ahead, you wouldn’t let me come. You wouldn’t see me when you were in the hospital.”

Twin spots of color stained Laura’s cheeks as she introduced the two men.

Owen extended his hand, which was immediately seized by a damp grip that startled him. Close up, Owen could see the faint sheen of nervous perspiration on her ex-husband’s forehead, and mentally frowned.

“I apologize if I interrupted something,” Peter said quietly. “As Laura can tell you, I travel all over the country. When I happened to be close enough to see the baby, I just took the chance…”

“You want to hold her?” Laura asked crisply.

Peter’s eyes clamped on Laura’s. Gingerly, he took Mari, holding her as if she were a carton of eggs. “She looks…beautiful,” he whispered.

Owen could barely keep his eyes off the man. The sun had dropped behind the treetops, but even in the fading light he had a clear picture. Peter was big, not heavy so much as brawny. Square, clean-cut features were framed by a thick crop of blond hair. This was not a man who treated life lightly; deep lines of strain and concentration furrowed his forehead. He bent his head to his daughter for a moment, and Owen saw the fierce look of love he expected to feel for a child of his own one day.

The urge to murder him abated somewhat. Her ex-husband—Owen had had visions of a wife beater, a violent man, a cruel man. Something to justify Laura’s severing of the marriage in the middle of her pregnancy, something to explain why she shied away from a certain kind of touch. Though Peter was big and muscular he was not an abusive man; Owen would have staked his life on that. And he looked at Laura as if she were special. When he glanced at Owen, his mouth widened in a definitely boyish grin. “She
is
the most beautiful baby you’ve ever seen, isn’t she?”

“A princess,” Owen agreed. No disagreement about
that.

“She’s been good?” Peter turned to Laura again.

“You’ve been all right? I was worried about you after the birth. I wanted you to have help, Laura, but every check I sent you—”

“I’ve been fine, and she’s been an angel. I didn’t need any help, honestly. Everything’s going well. Wonderful, in fact.” Laura’s smile was as brilliant and fake as paste diamonds. She moved toward the door, away from both men. “Come in. I’ll make a quick pot of coffee.”

Alone in the kitchen, Laura couldn’t find the coffee. It was on the shelf where she always kept it. Spoons clattered together; she had no cream—and then remembered that neither Owen nor Peter took cream. She spilled the sugar as she poured it into a porcelain cup, then couldn’t find a tray… In the other room, Mari let out a protesting wail. Laura bolted for the door, and then stopped. Peter had the right to hold his daughter. And Owen—as long as Owen was there, she knew she didn’t have to worry about anything happening to the baby.

Bracing her hands on the counter, her head bowed, Laura claimed just a minute alone. Peter’s low baritone filtered back to her; she heard him chuckle at something Owen said. The men were getting along fine.

It mattered. She didn’t want Owen to think she’d married a bastard. Peter wasn’t a bastard, and Laura had her share of pride…a pride she was holding on to by a thread, at the moment.
Oh, no, you don’t. You’re going to handle this, and you’re going to handle it well.

Obviously, she’d known she’d have to see Peter again because of Mari. It was just…if she’d known he was coming, she could have prepared herself emotionally. As it was, a volcano of memories threatened to erupt inside her. She’d forgotten…too much. Her relationship with Peter had been an exercise in humiliation. She’d felt as if she were imposing on a man who only pretended to want and need her.

She hadn’t been very smart. She’d been even less smart in the woods that afternoon with Owen. Grown women didn’t still believe in Santa Claus. Pretending she could start a serious relationship…no. One look at Peter had shot to bits any illusions she might have had about embarking on a new sexual relationship. Wanting was easy, but to need someone wasn’t enough—not unless you were needed back. In time, yes. In time, she wanted to believe she would have the courage to seek love again, but not when the baby needed all her emotional energy, not until she had built up enough strength to spring back from the blow Peter had dealt her.

Pull yourself together, Laura.

Abruptly, she stiffened her spine, schooled her features and opened the refrigerator. When Owen suddenly appeared in the doorway, she was wearing a cheerful, calm expression…but she could feel a betraying color jump to her cheeks when he noticed the bottle of wine in her hand. “The coffee’s almost ready, but I thought at this time of night I should probably offer wine as well.”

“Yes.” They both knew that she was the one who needed the wine—and that she hadn’t touched the bottle since the afternoon of the accident. “I’ll pour you a glass and carry the tray.”

“You don’t have to do that.”

So they were back to you-don’t-have-to-do-thats. Owen considered taking the bottle from her hand and smashing it. He considered snatching Laura up and spiriting her off. And he again considered smashing Peter’s face in, for whatever hell he’d put her through to make her as tense and miserable as a kitten suspended over a well.

Instead, he poured a glass of wine for her, followed her in with the tray and deliberately took the chair between Laura and Peter. When he had her alone, she was going to talk, whether she wanted to or not.

Until then, he lazily stretched out his legs and leaned back in the chair, communicating in body language that this was a hunky-dory evening, that no one had any reason to be upset, and that anyone who tried to cross the barrier of his legs to get to Laura was not going to live long.

As Owen initiated a smooth flow of conversation with her ex-husband, Laura gradually settled back on the couch.

It clearly mattered to Laura that he like Peter, and after talking with him for better than a half hour, Owen’s first impression confirmed that Peter was a quiet, genial man with a gentle sense of humor. He hid his nervousness well, neither forced conversation nor avoided it, and met Owen’s eyes head-on. All traits Owen normally respected in another man.

Not in Peter. Owen never trusted a man he couldn’t fathom. Peter showed no trace of jealousy or surprise at finding a strange man with Laura. In his shoes, Owen would have been off the wall. And every time Laura opened her mouth, Peter looked up with a genuinely warm smile.

Owen was not happy.

“You’ve done a beautiful job here,” Peter said softly to Laura, his eyes flickering around the room. “There’s the lighthouse clock.” He grinned. “I remember that Sunday afternoon when you were trying to get the tarnish off that thing. The whole apartment reeked of polish.”

Laura twirled the stem of the wineglass. “Your work is going well?”

“Sure. Travis and Judy are always asking about you.”

“I miss them,” she admitted. “And Mike, he’s doing okay?”

“You know Mike. He’s forever thinking up some great wild scheme, but it’s always talk. Steve’s wife is pregnant.”

“Is she?” Laura took a sip, then put the wineglass down. Old friends from the music world…she missed them all. She knew Peter was bringing them up to remind her of people she’d—from his viewpoint—casually tossed out of her life. Peter had the gift of gently, gently poking at sores that were almost healed, until suddenly they were raw wounds again.

And Owen was vibrating with all the tension of a caged tiger. She could barely look at him. She wanted to believe she was handling the conversation rather well; she wanted to believe she looked composed and calm, but every time she felt Owen’s eyes rest on her, she knew she wasn’t succeeding. Owen was too damned perceptive.

“And my parents said they tried to contact you several times, Laura. I can’t imagine that you couldn’t find the time to at least drop them a letter…”

“Yes.” Another raw wound. Peter’s parents had been dear to her, as had so many of their friends. She must have looked callous to all of them when she severed contact without a word. And she must look the same way to Owen.

For some foolish reason, she’d set down the wineglass, leaving her nothing to do with her hands. She quickly picked it up again. “I should have discussed Mari with you before, Peter. Of course, you have the right to see the baby, but it’s awkward while I’m nursing her. You can only take her for an hour or two at a time, and you’re not even living near here…”

That fast, the atmosphere changed. Peter never came out fighting, of course; he just put more velvet in his voice. “Naturally, it would have been easier for me to see her if you hadn’t moved.”

She took a breath, feeling sick inside as she hadn’t felt sick in a long time. Sick and sad and somehow defensive. She hadn’t deserted friends or ignored his parents or even moved by choice. If she’d stayed, people would have asked questions, questions she couldn’t answer. Not because of her own pride but because of Peter’s…and because of the baby in his arms, with her father’s intense blue eyes. “I realize that my moving made it more difficult for you.”

“Which was very clever of you, if you didn’t want me to have much contact with her.”

She was beginning to feel hounded, yet Peter was wearing a hurt look in his eyes, and glancing at Owen as if to ask for his sympathy. “Peter, you must know I didn’t move to keep you from seeing her.”

“No? Well, I’ll manage somehow, regardless,” he said quietly. “I still don’t understand about the hospital. You called me when the baby was born, but wouldn’t let me see you. All I wanted to do was congratulate you, Laura. Was that so hard to understand?”

She touched her fingers to her temples. His velvet tone, his soulful eyes—somehow, Peter always made her feel as if she had done something wrong. “No, of course not.” Distressed, Laura’s voice came out low, almost trembly. “I apologize, but at the time—”

Carefully, he shifted the baby and stood up. “She’s my daughter, too, Laura.”

“I’ve never denied that!”

“But you’d like to.”

“You probably have a long drive back, to wherever the hell you’re going,” Owen interrupted cheerfully.

There was a moment of silence, not long. Owen stared at Peter; Peter stared at Owen and then rather abruptly handed the baby to Laura. As if sensing the tension in the atmosphere, Mari opened her eyes and let out an irritated yell.

“What’s wrong with her?” Peter asked immediately.

“Nothing,” Laura said swiftly. “She’s getting hungry, and she needs to be changed.” She darted an accusatory glance at Owen for jumping in. Lovingly cradling the baby to her shoulder, she said to Peter, “After that, she’ll sleep through the night. There’s no point in your staying.” The baby’s plaintive cries drowned out his answer, and when Peter moved to the front door, Laura turned toward the stairs to the left.

When she was out of sight, the two men stood facing each other. The flare of anger in Peter’s eyes expressed the first honest emotion Owen had seen so far, and gave him a reason to respect the man.

“I’m staying until I’ve had a word with her in private,” Peter said flatly.

Owen shook his head. “Nope. You’re not.” His tone was still pleasant. “You had your word with her. And succeeded in making Laura feel bad—which is undoubtedly what you wanted to do.”

“That’s ridiculous. You don’t know anything about Laura and me.”

“You’re absolutely right. I know nothing about you, about why Laura moved, about why she wouldn’t see you in the hospital, about why she felt she had to drop old friends who were evidently important to her—but I do know about people who lay subtle guilt trips on others. You brought up every subject you knew would hurt her, didn’t you? Have a nice drive.”

“I think you’ve misunderstood,” Peter said stiffly.

“Sure I have.”

A muscle in Peter’s jaw tightened, but just that abruptly, he backed off. Five seconds later, he left the house, slamming the screen door. Owen stood there, rubbing the back of his neck wearily, and then squinted up the steps to the loft.

He expected Laura was furious with him.

She certainly had reason to be. He’d interfered with all the subtlety of a bulldozer, and he wasn’t proud of himself. He’d had every intention of being civil to her ex-husband. It just hadn’t worked out that way.

Laura was his. He hadn’t realized quite how much he cared until Peter tried to needle her. In other circumstances, maybe the guy was as gut-likable as he’d originally seemed—but a man didn’t lay a pile of emotional baggage on a vulnerable woman. Laura was far from her physical and emotional strongest, this soon after the birth. No one was going to hurt her. If that was a rather cavemanish attitude, Owen was guilty.