“THAT’S IT, you stupid mutt. That’s one hundred and twenty-three runs-more than enough for any self- respecting dog. Home!” Michael caught Socks to him, attached the leash to his collar and turned-to find his wife soundly asleep on the park bench.
Jenny.
He stood for a long moment looking at her. She was still wearing that awful secretarial smock, and although this morning he’d found it reassuring, fitting her into the role he knew, suddenly he hated it. She was quite extraordinarily beautiful, and he no longer wanted to think of her as his secretary.
The warm breeze was wisping the curls from her face, and her skin was still pale. She was wearing no makeup. Her lips were soft and full, and her lashes were long and luxurious.
Socks, head on one side, looked questioningly at his mistress. He put one dusty paw onto Jenny’s knee, but she didn’t stir, and suddenly it was too much for Michael. It would be too much for any man, he thought, and this was his wife. The woman he wanted more than anything in the world.
As if compelled, he bent and kissed her full on the lips, kissed her with a tenderness he didn’t know he possessed.
His Jenny. His wife.
As his mouth found hers, Jenny’s eyelids slowly opened, and she saw his face before her. Like part of herself.
And somehow, still half asleep, she wasn’t surprised. This was an extension of a lovely dream. She’d expected that Michael’s mouth would be on hers, and she’d known that this feeling would be so immeasurably sweet she couldn’t bear it. She couldn’t resist.
“Michael,” she murmured, and her hands rose just a fraction. She didn’t pull away, but she stirred, and her eyes smiled into his.
It was enough. He needed no other urging. His Jenny.
With a joyous groan he knelt and gathered her to him, and then he kissed her properly, as a man should kiss his wife. He kissed her with a fierceness born of passion. Born of need.
His lips were against hers, and her mouth was softly opening, welcoming, wanting him with an urgency that matched his. Dear heaven, she was so sweet. So lovely. She was so incredibly desirable that it was as much as he could do to breathe. His hands felt the roundness of her belly, and her breasts yielded to his chest, soft, compliant.
Jenny.
And still the kiss held. Her hands were on his face, holding him, deepening the kiss with a possessiveness that told him her hunger and her need were as great as his. The kiss went on and on, while they sat motionless under the cloudless sky.
But at last it came to an end. Two small boys came tearing along the path and skidded to a halt at the sight of them-and then burst into teasing laughter.
“Aw, mushy…”
“Kissy, kissy!”
One of the boys pursed his lips and made a kissing sound. Jenny and Michael broke apart in laughing confusion, while Socks barked his disapproval of this intrusion.
“Clear out of here,” Michael ordered the boys, but there was laughter in his eyes. His heart had no room for anger right now. His arms were firmly around Jenny’s waist, and there was no way he was letting go. “Can’t a man kiss his wife?”
“Kissing makes babies,” one small scamp offered, and the other boy hooted with scorn.
“Stupid, they’ve already made a baby. She’s as pregnant as my mom was when she had Sarah. I’ll bet she’s about to bust at any minute.”
“Then what do they want to kiss for?”
Sarah’s older brother was unable to find an answer for such a tricky biological question. “Yuck! How would I know?” He giggled, threw Jenny and Michael a scornful glance and raced away with his buddy.
Their words lingered, funny, yet profound. What
Peter! No!
The stab of memory caught her by surprise. Why
“Me to kiss you?” He smiled at the distress in her face. “Honest? I very much want to kiss you.”
“I can’t.”
“Jen…” He rose from his kneeling position and sat on the bench beside her, taking her hands between his. All of a sudden her fingers felt cold, and he frowned. “It’s too soon, isn’t it? Because of Peter.”
“I…” She shook her head. How to make him see the impossible? “He’s only been dead seven months,” she said miserably.
“I understand.”
“No.” She pulled her hands away, pushed her curls out of her eyes and stared bleakly at the river. “I don’t think you do.”
“So tell me,” he said softly. Her eyes flew to his.
“You don’t-you can’t-this has nothing to do with you. I thought you never intended to get near anyone again.”
“I’m doing it for the dog,” he said promptly, and his answer was so pat she frowned in confusion.
“The dog?”
Lightness was needed here. He was thinking fast. Anything to take the panic from her eyes.
“Every orphan needs two parents,” he explained soulfully. “I ought to know that. Your baby needs two parents, so I offered, thinking we could get into the domesticity bit later. But now we have Socks, and the need is urgent. We need to indulge in domesticity right now, or Socks risks a deeply disturbed adolescence.”
“And domesticity means kissing?”
“Definitely!”
“You know, Socks might not be the most stable adolescent to work on,” Jenny said cautiously, trying for laughter, and Michael shook his head in disbelief and clapped a hand over her mouth.
“Shh. You’ll give the dog a complex. Let’s just go back to playing doting parents. Do what doting parents do.” He smiled at her-that heart-stopping smile that had her insides doing back flips-and tried to draw her into his arms. But she somehow managed to pull away.
“No.”
“Then tell me why.” His smile died again. Okay. Maybe humor wasn’t such a good idea. Maybe honesty was the best bet. “There’s all sorts of electricity between us, Jenny, and I don’t understand it one bit. It’s caught me by surprise, but my instinct here is to go with it. To see where it leads.”
“To see if we can fall in love, you mean?” she asked cautiously, and he nodded.
“I guess that’s what I do mean.” He caught his breath, overwhelmed by what he was about to say. “Maybe… maybe it’s already happened.”
“You’re saying you love me?” Her eyes widened in incredulity. “After four days?”
“Hey, I’ve known you for over five months. Every weekday for five months.”
Her jaw dropped. “Yeah, right. And you spent all that time treating me like I was part of the furniture.”
“I didn’t.”
“Every morning I had the same thing for morning break,” she said with asperity. “What was it?”
“Huh?”
“Ha! I told you you didn’t notice!”
“How would I know if you had tea or coffee. Does it matter?”
“I had chocolate milk,” she said with dignity. “Straight out of the carton.”
“Jen…”
“No.” Despite her attempt at lightness, the distress was still in her voice. “No way. It’s true you’ve only just noticed me. There’s no way I’m letting you commit here, Michael Lord.”
Let him commit?
