Thanksgiving

“Thanks.” He popped Winnie the Pooh into the recorder slot and zapped it with the remote.

“I thought Winnie was for Timmy.”

Pat grinned. “We should check it out. Make sure everythings okay. I wouldn’t want the little nipper to be disappointed.”

Megan stepped out of her shoes and climbed onto the soft feather quilt. She plumped a pillow at the headboard and curled her legs under her. “This is cozy. It’s a perfect night for Winnie the Pooh.”

Pat looked at the woman sitting on his bed and felt his mouth go dry. She was exquisite, and somehow, watching her take off her shoes had been as erotic as if she’d been taking off her panties. Lord, he must have been crazy.

How would he ever get through the evening without attacking her?

Megan felt the tension creeping through her body. She leaned back against the pillow and willed herself to relax. She wanted to act like an adult and let this desire grow naturally. There was a right time for everything… a time to watch a movie, a time for conversation, a time to be kissed. She took a deep breath, carefully folded her hands in her lap, and watched the wind blow Owl’s house down. Then she watched the windy day turn into a rainy night. She thought it must be nice to spend a rainy night in Patrick’s bedroom. Good thing it wasn’t raining. She might be tempted to set up housekeeping.

“Is this your furniture?” she asked to get her mind off the idea of living with Pat.

“No. My Aunt Catherine lives here. She’s a historical interpreter, but she’s taken a six month leave to participate in an archeological dig somewhere. I’ll have to find another house in March.”

He changed movies and returned to the bed, putting his arm around Megan and snuggling her next to him. “This is a terrific way to spend a birthday,” he murmured, kissing her hair. “Have you seen this movie?”

She closed her eyes for a moment, savoring the stab of pleasure his kiss had brought. “Six times, and I always cry. You’d better have lots of tissues handy.”

Later, Megan dabbed at her red – rimmed eyes and blew her nose. “It’s so beautiful,” she said, gasping.

Pat held her close and stroked a stray strand of hair from her tear- streaked face. “Are you okay? I’ve never seen anyone cry like that over a movie. I never would have gotten it if I’d known what it did to you.”

“No, I love it. It’s my favorite movie.”

“Honey, you started crying when they played the opening theme, and you absolutely sobbed through the whole last half hour!”

Megan snuffled against his chest. He was nice to cry on, she thought. Warm and strong and oozing security. This was much better than crying alone.

“I’m better now,” she said, tipping her head up toward him. She was all cried out, and she wanted to be kissed. She liked Patrick Hunter. Really liked him. He was fun, and he was comfortable. And he was sexy. Very sexy. She hadn’t changed her mind about marriage, but she thought a birthday kiss would be nice. Everyone needed to get kissed once in a while, and the “maybe” in her mind had changed to “probably.”

“Happy birthday,” she said in a voice husky from crying. She wound her arms around his neck and ran her finger along the outer rim of his ear.

Pat felt himself stir at her touch. He’d never wanted anything in his entire life the way he wanted Megan Murphy. He’d wanted her since the first moment he saw her, and that want had grown into a physical and emotional ache that nagged at him day and night. Now that he had her on his bed, waiting to be kissed, he was apprehensive. He didn’t want her seduced into his arms by Clint Eastwood, and he didn’t want her softened up by Winnie the Pooh or the fact that it was his birthday. He wanted her to want him, Patrick Hunter. He let his hands caress the pink angora sweater and felt the warm woman beneath.

“Meg, if we stay here, like this, I’m going to kiss you, and I’m not going to want to stop kissing you. Maybe I should take you home now.”

Had he just offered to take her home? he wondered. He must be nuts. He finally had Megan right where he wanted her, and he’d offered to take her home.

“I don’t want to go home,” she said. “I want to be kissed.”

Hell, he thought, that’s the ball game. He’d reached the end of his altruism. Besides, she’d be insulted if he refused to kiss her, and it would be rude to insult her. He’d warned her about kissing’s leading to other things, right? He’d told her in the beginning of the week that he’d do anything to get her. That put him in the clear, didn’t it?

Megan watched emotions parade across Pat’s face. Just when she wanted to get kissed he was going virtuous on her, she thought, waging some sort of war between his morals and his mattress. Wasn’t that her luck? “Hunter?”

“Yes?”

“Stop thinking and kiss me.”

A small frown appeared between his eyes as he lowered his head to hers. He kissed her gently, tasting, testing soft lips. “Megan, I don’t-”

She stopped his words with a kiss of her own, leaning into him, pressing against his chest, sliding her stockinged legs along his. She closed her eyes and reveled in the warmth of his body. Desire raged through her, just as she’d known it would. This was a special night, she told herself. A stolen moment of love. She wasn’t meant to be married, but she could have this one night.

Pat pulled her even closer. Megan gasped at the sudden intensity of his passion and arched up against him in a haze of greedy pleasure. Her fingers flew along the buttons of his shirt, baring his muscled chest to her touch. She wanted more. She wanted to see all of him. He pulled her sweater over her head and stripped off her bra.

“Pat…”

He looked at her with eyes black from desire. “Megan…”

“The baby’s crying.”

“What?”

“The baby’s crying!”

“Oh, hell. I don’t believe this. Let him cry.” He kissed her hard on the mouth. Halfway through the kiss he opened his eyes and found her staring at him.

“I’m sorry,” she said, practically screaming in exasperation. “I can’t concentrate.”

Pat counted to ten, took a deep breath, and heaved himself off the bed. “Feel free to continue without me. I have a feeling this is going to take some time.”

Megan rolled her eyes. So this was motherhood, she thought. Green beans on your shirt and romantic interruptions. She pulled on her sweater, tidied her clothes and ran Pat’s hairbrush through her tangled hair.

“What’s the problem?” she asked, tiptoeing down the stairs.

Pat was cradling Timmy in his arms. “I think he’s getting a tooth.”

“Couldn’t he get it during the day? Couldn’t he get it tomorrow?”

Pat grinned. “Disappointed, huh? You’re pretty hot stuff.”

She felt her face flush.

“And you’re fun to tease,” he added, smiling. “How about some cold apple juice for Timmy and some hot chocolate for Pat?”

She clicked her heels together and gave him a snappy salute. “Aye, aye, sir.”

They sat at the kitchen table, drinking their hot chocolate while Pat fed the baby.