My One And Only (15 page)

Positively worth the wait, he decided as he claimed her lips. He trailed one hand along the underside of her bare arm, down her rib cage, and around her waist. She froze for an instant, then made that intoxicating little noise again. He smiled against her lips and pressed his hands to
the small of her back. The stiffness flowed out of her as she leaned into him. Ethan savored the kiss, and soon grew annoyed with the hindrance the chairback presented. He stood, bringing Abby with him.

She tilted her head back and threaded her fingers through his hair. "Oh, God, Ethan."

This time there was nothing hesitant in the way she said his name. It was more of a demand, and he gladly kicked the chair out of the way and pulled her firmly against him.

The contact was electrifying. He shifted one hand to her hips and aligned her body with his, then inched his lips down her throat.

Abby made an enticing little sound in the back of her throat. "I never—"

He kissed her again before she could finish the statement. He wanted to leave it at that so he could fill in the rest with his imagination. She'd never had it like this? He hoped so, he thought as he drank from her mouth again, because he hadn't either. She'd never burned quite this hot? He skimmed his hands down her body. He felt caught in a conflagration. She'd never wanted a person this much? He couldn't remember the last time he'd craved something until he hurt from it.

He maneuvered her two steps backward until she bumped into the kitchen table. His fingers found the hem of her tank top and he pulled it up so he could slide his hand over the bare skin of her
midriff. Rose-petal soft, he thought. He felt her shiver as his fingertips danced over her spine. One of her hands glided into his hair as she rocked against him.

He lifted her onto the table, pushed her knees apart, and stepped between them. Abby sighed and draped her arms over his shoulders. He tore his mouth from hers to plant a line of kisses down her throat to her butter-soft neck. She tasted like cookies, he decided. Brown sugar, cinnamon, and cocoa blended on her skin and intoxicated him. "Ah,
baby…
"

Abby gasped when he gently bit her collarbone. "What are you doing?"

He trailed his mouth up her neck. "Tasting you. It's incredible."

"I can'
t—
"

"Don't fight me." He slid his hand over her rib cag
e. "Enjoy me." He kissed the corn
er of her mouth. "Let me enjoy you."

"You're—"

He kissed her hard to keep her from finishing. Abby moaned against his lips and tipped her head back so he could plunder the depths of her mouth. He drank so deeply he could feel heaviness gathering in his lower body. Abby whispered something to him, then pushed him away. "Please. Please stop."

He blinked. "Abby—"

"Please," she whispered again and pressed her
flushed face to his chest. "A minute. Just a minute."

Ethan gathered her to him and took long, calming breaths. He had to mentally remind himself that he wouldn't die if he couldn't have her right then, and the thought shocked him. He wasn't used to this fierce wanting; it felt dangerously close to that place in his soul where passion could control him.

Abby finally broke the embrace and moved a step backward, then another. Her lips were swollen and red from the kiss. She held one hand to her chest and closed her eyes. "Rachel," she said softly. "They'll be back soon."

She was right. Self-recrimination flooded Ethan as he realized he'd broken his own promise to himself by starting something he couldn't finish. If Abby hadn't taken
control
…
His gaze flicked to the table. He had to shake his head to clear it. Her skin was flushed, and he could see the rapid beat of her heart where the pulse pounded in her throat. He scrubbed a hand over his face. "You're right."

Abby's fingers twisted into the fabric of his shirt. "This is moving so fast."

Not fast enough to suit him. "I have tomorrow and Tuesday," he said. "Then I've got to go back to California."

"It'll give us some time."

The last thing he wanted was time. "I want
you to come with me." He pressed his lips to her temple.

She laughed. "Are you kidding?"

"Not at all."

Abby shook her head. "I can't possibly go running off to California with you!"

"Because of Rachel?"

"Because it's idiotic. I've got a fund-raiser to plan, three major events coming up, and a life to run." She covered her eyes with her palms. "Not to mention the fact that I barely know you."

Frustrated, Ethan stuffed his hands in his pockets. "I could try to make it back before the end of next week, but it's doubtful."

"You don't have to. I'm sure you can do most of the work for MDS from your California office."

He wanted her to feel as crazy as he did, he realized. He wanted her to be going nuts trying to figure out how much longer she'd have to wait before she could have him. He shouldn't be the only one in that boat. "Sure I can," he concurred, "but I can't try to seduce you from California."

"Make a bet," she muttered.

He grinned at her. "Okay, not as
effectively
I can'
t.
"

Abby pressed her fingers to her temples. "This is crazy."

Ethan shrugged. "Maybe, but I think I have a right to know just how long you want me to wait."

"It's not like I can check my PDA and tell you I
have an opening for sex a week from tomorrow," she quipped.

A search of her clear hazel eyes showed nothing but lingering desire and honest intent. "Don't get me wrong. I'll wait. Anticipation can be—nice."

"This from the man who said he doesn't believe in delayed gratification?"

"I said it was nice. I didn't say it was nicer than other things."

"Lord, Ethan."

"I'm not trying to railroad you."

Her eyes widened. "You're kidding."

"All right," he conceded, and stroked his thumb over the co
rn
er of her mouth. "Maybe a little."

"Or completely."

He shrugged. "I'm not going to promise that I won't do everything in my power to accelerate the, ah, timetable. I happen to be a strategic genius."

"There's more?" she said incredulously.

"Baby, I'm just getting started." He cupped her face in his hand. "I want you. Sooner rather than later. I've been nothing but honest about that."

"Brutally," she a
c
knowledged.

"And you're overwhelmed?" he asked, cautious.

"No," She tipped her head and pursed her lips. "No," she said again. "At least, not in a bad
way."

"There's a good way to be overwhelmed?"

"Well, yes. I"—she hesitated—"I can't say I've ever inspired a person to do something really reckless before."

A warning bell went off in his head. There was that word—that slight accusation which could so easily turn to condemnation. "Reckless?"

Her eyes sparkled with mirth. "I mean, would you really have tried to ravish me on a table full of sugar and flour if you'd had time to think about it first?"

If he hadn't known better, he'd have sworn she sounded flattered, and not the least bit intimidated. "Depends," he replied.

Abby was brushing flour dust off his shirt. "Oh?"

"Yes." He caught a strand of her hair between his fingers and brought it to his face so he could inhale the scent of her shampoo mixed with the baking ingredients. "You can do a lot of really interesting things with flour and sugar."

Abby's color hei
ghtened, and her hands stilled
on his shirt. "You're impossible."

He rubbed the curl over his lips, then laid it back on her shoulder. "So I've heard."

She was saved a reply by the buzz of the oven timer.

E
than frowned as he listened to the voice on the other end of the phone. "What are you saying, Charlie?"

The private investigator Ethan had hired to look into Abby's relationship with Harrison had called him in his Chicago hotel room to deliver an update. "It's weird, Ethan. It's like she didn't exist before her father was killed."

"That's not possible. You have to be missing something."

"I'm looking. I've called everyone I know, and pulled a hell of a lot of strings. I'm getting nothing."

Ethan stared
at his reflection in the rain-
streaked window. It was late Sunday evening. Rachel had finally finished the baking, and Ethan had left Abby's house feeling a little off balance and unaccountably agitated. The call from Charlie didn't help.

"All right. Here's what I want you to do." He issued several instructions to Charlie, then hung up and immediately dialed his CFO.

Jack answered his cell phone on the second ring. "Hey, Ethan. How's things in Chicago?"

"Edna told you?"

"Gleefully."

"That woman is way too interested in my personal life."

Jack laughed. "Who are you kidding? Edna practically
is
your social life."

Ethan let the comment pass. "Jack, listen. I don't want to impinge on your weekend, I just want you to do something for me if you have time."

"Sure."

"Do you remember that deal we struck with Maddigan and Cullen a couple of years ago?"

"The defense contractors? Sure, I remember."

"There was a key player in that negotiation. A guy by the name of Hansen Wells."

"Yeah, you tried to hire him."

"That's the one. Can you run down a current phone number for me? I have something I want to talk to him about."

"Do we have an opening?" Jack quipped.

Ethan laughed. "Don't worry, Jack. Your job's secure. I just need to ask Hansen a couple of questions."

"I'll see what I can do."

"Thanks. Oh, and leave Edna out of the loop, if you don't mind."

"Ethan—"

"Don't sound so worried," his boss assured him. "It's not a bi
g deal. Edna would just take un
necessary interest in this, and it's a personal matter. I'd like to keep it that way."

"All right. Whatever you want."

"Thanks, Jack. You can reach me on my cell phone for the rest of the weekend."

"Will do. Listen, have you had a chance to look over that stuff I gave you on MDS before you left?"

"Yeah. Looks grim."

"Are you still thinking we're going to wade into this?"

Ethan had a mental picture of Abby, seated on her kitchen table, looking at him wit
h bright eyes and kiss-swollen li
ps. "I'm already in, Jack."

"Seriously?"

"I'd say very seriously."

"Does Montgomery know it yet?"

"More or less. Why?"

"Because my source says on Tuesday he plans to announce he's splitting the company and putting it on the block."

"Damned fool."

"It's probably too late for you to do anything for him."

"I'm not in this for him," Ethan explained. "It's a long story. I'll fill you in when I get back to San Francisco."

"Wednesday morning, Edna said?"

"Yes. I'll probably fly in late Tuesday night."

"Okay, then, but we'll need to meet. You've got to spend some time listening to Lewis about the Kinsey matter."

"Wednesday," Ethan promised. "You can have my undivided attention."

Jack chuckled. "If you say so. I'll get back to you as soon as I have that number for Wells."

"Thanks, Jack. I appreciate it." Ethan hung up and tossed the cordless phone onto the bed.

Thrusting his hands in his pockets, he stood with his back to the room and stared out at the Chicago skyline. He replayed his conversation with Charlie in his mind and his frown deepened. Instinct told him that whatever answers he could get from Charlie or, with any luck, from Hansen Wells weren't going to be simple—and probably weren't going to be pleasant.

And he'd have to be the one to break the news to Abby.

nine

"
W
ell, hello there, gorgeous."

Abby smiled into the well-wrinkled face of General John Standen. "John, you've got to stop flattering me like that. It'll go straight to my head."

General Standen, who was in his nineties, still had a bright twinkle in his eyes. "I live in fear that some young fellow is going to come along and snatch you away from me," he said. His sharp gaze darted to the edge of the room where Ethan and Rachel were unpacking the gift boxes full of cookies. "Like that one," he said, tipping his head in Ethan's direction. "With the long hair."

Abby laughed and patted the old man on the shoulder. "I'm sure he'd be thrilled to learn you think his hair is too long."

The general scoffed. "He couldn't care less. I
can tell by looking
at him. He's one of those self-
made hooligan types you girls go for."

Abby smiled, as much at the description as at the gentlemanly way it was delivered. "Would it do me a bit of good to tell you it's none of your business?"

"No way. I've got to look after my girl, you know."

She dropped a kiss on his weathered cheek. "I'll let you know if I get myself into trouble." She started to make the rounds of the gaily decorated room. This was probably her favorite part of her job at the foundation. As much satisfaction as she got from administering the organization's myriad programs, nothing compared with the personal fulfillment of spending time with the men and women the foundation supported. It made her feel connected to the memory of her father and to the friends who had helped her survive the sorrow of her parents' death.

In honor of the holiday, the staff of the Chicago Metropolitan Veterans Center had hung flags and garlands, but despite the festive atmosphere, Abby was aware of the undercurrent of sadness that flowed among the residents. Few outsiders understood how difficult Memorial Day was for them.

In her experience, people often made the mistake of believing that veterans were united by their shared experiences of war, but Abby knew
better. What bound them together was their shared grief at the loss of so many close friends. They seemed to have a resilience that inspired her, and in the years since her parents' death, she'd made sure that Rachel had the benefit of their experience. Though each veteran in this room had suffered unimaginable losses, and many had overcome hardships and trauma that she could only begin to imagine, they all had found the courage to rebuild their lives and their friendships.

And Abby loved them for it.

She greeted several friends as she slowly made her way toward the co
rn
er where Colonel Archie Jameson sat by himself, clutching a small American flag. He greeted her with his usual sad smile. Abby took his hand and gave it a tight squeeze. The colonel had been one of her personal projects for the past two years. "Hi, Colonel. Happy Memorial Day."

He turned his wheelchair toward her. "Hello, Abby."

"How are you doing today?" She sat in the chair next to him.

His eyes looked misty to her. "A little worse than usual," he admitted. "This holiday is almost the toughest. Christmas is worse, though."

Abby nodded. "I know." Archie Jameson's story had struck a certain chord in her, one that had wrapped tighter and tighter around her
heart the longer she knew him. "Thinking about Miss Jo?"

Josephine Wyler had been Archie Jameson's high school sweetheart and, as far as Abby knew, his only love. He'd gone off to fight with the Allied forces in France while Josephine had stayed behind. Archie had lost both his legs on the beaches of Normandy. Josephine had written him after hearing the news, telling him he'd better come home to her and that at least she'd always know he couldn't stray from her side. Archie had clutched that letter during the long days of recuperation in the hospital, the difficult days of recovery, and his subsequent ship's voyage back to the United States. He'd arrived in New York and been greeted with the tragic news that his beloved Josephine had died waiting for him to return. Archie's spirit had never recovered.

"I'm always thinking about Miss Jo," Archie answered, and his voice sounded a little thready.

Abby wove her fingers through his trembling ones. They had a
lmost ten minutes, she knew, be
fore the program started. "Why don't you tell me your favorite thing about her, Archie?"

He clutched the flag a little tighter. "Did I ever tell you about Jo's hair?" he asked softly.

At least half a dozen times, Abby thought with a slight smile. "What was it like?" she prodded. "Pretty, I'll bet."

"The most beautiful hair I've ever seen."

She felt two strong hands settle on her shoulders. Ethan dropped a kiss on top of her hair. "I know just how that feels," he said, his voice close to her ear.

Abby drew a sharp breath. Since their conversation on Saturday night, Ethan had made good on his promise to try to accelerate the timetable of their relationship. He was constantly finding excuses to touch her. She'd never imagined that baking could turn so quickly into foreplay, but he would come up behind her and pin her to the counter so he could look over her shoulder; or lift her dough-covered fingers to his mouth to taste them, and she'd break into shivers.

Though he'd remained circumspect in front of Rachel and LuA
nne, he'd somehow managed to corn
er her alone several times. In the past two days she'd learned what she imagined were all the ways a woman could be kissed. Softly, hungrily, hard, gentle, demanding, begging, Ethan seemed to know them all—and he was a great communicator. Her lips tingled just thinking about how he'd caught her in the hallway that morning while Rachel and LuAnne were loading the car. Before she had time to think, Ethan had pressed her up against the linen-closet door with her hands pinned near her shoulders. He'd covered her mouth in an intense kiss that tasted like toothpaste and something else, something wildly forbidden. "I missed you last night," he'd whispered against her
mouth, and sent shivers skitter
ing down her spine.

Abby coughed and met his gaze. "Hi."

Archie gave him a once-over. "You a friend of Abby's?"

"Yes." Ethan took the chair next to Abby.

"A good friend?" the colonel asked, looking at Abby.

Ethan reached for her free hand. "I like to think so."

Archie stared at him for several seconds, sizing him up. Finally, he nodded. "You got a good one. You treat her right."

"I'm trying." Ethan gave her hand a squeeze, then released it. "Everything's unpacked," he told her.

She nodded. "Where's Rachel?"

"Charming the crowd." He draped his arm across the back of her chair. "She's a natural."

"Abby," Archie prompted, "aren't you going to tell me the man's name? I got a right to know."

She laughed. "Subtle as usual, Colonel." She squeezed his hand. "This is Ethan Maddux. Ethan, Colonel Archie Jameson."

Ethan extended his hand to the colonel. "Nice to meet you."

Archie hesitated, then shook Ethan's hand. "I guess you'll do," he said, "although you're going to have your hands full fighting off some of these
guys for Abby's attention. She's got 'em all under her thumb."

"I'm starting to gather that," Ethan drawled.

A slight commotion at the front of the room signaled that the program was about to begin. On cue, the lights dimmed as a young man from one of the local high schools began playing "God Bless America" on the slightly beat-up piano in the corner. Ethan moved his hand to Abby's shoulder and began to rub it in a slow, mesmerizing circle. "All right, Colonel," he said over her head. "No trying to make time with my girl after the lights go out."

Archie's soft laugh lightened Abby's heart. With a slight shake of her head, she admitted to herself that she'd actually gone and done the one thing she'd sworn she wouldn't: she had fallen for Ethan Maddux. Hard. Extremely, irrevocably hard.

The realization, she supposed, should at least have made her nervous. If she really sat down and thought about it, it probably would. But at the moment, it caused a warm feeling to flow through her blood. A feeling so tantalizing, she wanted to wallow in it.

W
ith Abby's head tipped against his shoulder and a middle school choir sin
ging the armed ser
vices medley, Ethan wondered why it had taken
him his entire life to discover how incredible simp
l
e pleasures could be. He'd seen operas at La Scala. He'd sat in concert halls and listened to performances by the world's most reno
wned
mus
icians
. He had attended movie premieres, sponsored plays by leading dramatists, and gone to
more galas and media events than he cared to count.

And he couldn't remember the last time he'd enjoyed himself more.

As the program unfolded, some hidden spring inside Abby seemed to gradually unwind. The dark smudges under her eyes hadn't disappeared, and he knew that the time spent in the kitchen wasn't the sole cause of her fatigue. He was suffering the same affliction. Lying alone in his hotel room, he'd resorted to everything from cold showers to midnight swims in the hotel pool to bu
rn
off the excess energy of his growing desire for Abby.

It hadn't helped.

To make matters worse, the only sign he had that Abby was showing any ill effects from the strain of too-close proximity and unfulfilled sexual desire was the incriminating circles under her eyes. Even those were barely noticeable, and if Rachel hadn't let slip that Abby had resorted to using frozen cucumber slices that morning, he might not have known.

So he'd kissed her in the hallway of her house
just to be sure. And she'd melted against him like clarified butter. Her arms had wended around his neck and his world had righted itself on its axis. She wasn't pushing him away, and the depth of his hunger didn't intimidate her. As long as he played it easy, he could have her.

Abby's guard had definitely dropped, he decided the instant he felt her head tip against his shoulder. He stole a quick glance and saw her eyes were shut. She seemed to
have slipped into lassi
tude. He took the opportunity to study the interesting features of her face. In stark contrast to Pamela's classic beauty, Abby looked fresh. He'd been pretty pleased with himself when he'd decided on this word late last night. He'd been lying in bed, fighting a war with his libido, trying to figure out just what it was about Abby's face that he found so irresistible.

It was round, with a smattering of freckles across the bridge of her slightly upturned nose, and she had none of the tired look he'd seen so often. When she smiled, he could see the tiny gap between two of her bottom teeth. He found that gap utterly infectious—it was like a flaw in an otherwise seamless piece of marble. The gap gave her smile dimension and character.

Abby was all about character. Perhaps that explained why he k
new he could trust her. Abby re
spected and cared for Harrison Montgomery, but she wasn't blind to his flaws. If and when the time
came for Ethan to expose those flaws, she'd trust him. She'd given him her word on that.

And if he hadn't believed it for any other reason, he'd been sold the moment she'd risen to his defense on Harrison's yacht. When he walked into MDS tomorrow and informed Harrison that he'd made his decision, Abby would be irrevocably caught in the middle. He couldn't spare her that. The best he could do was struggle to contain the anger he'd suppressed for all these years.

That was getting tougher to do.

Being back in Chicago and spending time with the Montgomerys had begun to awaken a sleeping giant. It had been years since he'd allowed himself to revisit the seething rage he'd felt the day he'd hurled two house keys and three thousand dollars in cash at Harrison and announced he was leaving. The house keys opened the door to Harrison's downtown apartment, where Ethan had lived since his mother's death. The cash, which Ethan had earned through a series of odd jobs, covered his mother's funeral expenses.

He'd spent years after that episode feeling like a victim of that rage. Only his self-control had helped him conquer the anger, but it simmered just below the surface. It was one of the facets of that same deep passion that had destroyed his mother—the same recklessness that had driven her into the arms of Harrison Montgomery and ultimately ruined her life. At all costs, Ethan
knew, he had to control his emotions or lose everything.

Abby stirred against his shoulder and released him from his melancholy thoughts. She blinked, and the confusion cleared from her eyes. "Sorry," she muttered, sitting up. Her hand automatically went to her hair.

"Don't be." He nodded in the direction of the stage. A student was reading a poem about Pearl Harbor. "I was enjoying the program."

A smile played across her lips. "Not your usual style of entertainment, I'm sure."

He shrugged. "A man can take only so much opera. Besides"—he reached for her hand—"I hear this place serves really great refreshments."

"What makes you think we'll get any? I've seen these people eat."